


Deep in the Heart of Texas

by emwebb17



Series: Off The Reservation [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 09:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21033917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emwebb17/pseuds/emwebb17
Summary: Road trip.





	Deep in the Heart of Texas

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally RPF. I did a basic find and replace for this fic. If there are glaring errors or things that seem a little odd, let me know and I'll try to correct them. This has been the most requested series to have put back on AO3 as Destiel, and I just wanted to get it out there because I can't find the time to proofread it.
> 
> There were originally two versions of the last part of the story; the same work (most of it verbatim) told from two different POV's. My original intent was to have the last part told from Castiel's POV, but I assumed there would be people who rather stay in Dean's POV. Unfortunately, I have lost the Dean (Jensen) version. If someone has it, you can send it to me at emwebb17@gmail.com and I'll add it here.

**"Deep in the Heart of Texas" is popular folk song in Texas (by way of Hollywood).**

As Castiel took the stairs down into the parking garage under the building in which he lived, he did a mental inventory of the weapons on his body by feeling them or their weight against his skin: his favorite .45 Glock 36 holstered under his left arm, his second favorite Glock 20 holstered on his right hip, the inelegant but convenient Springfield XD-S 9mm holstered on his left ankle, the Colt Mustang XSP tucked into the back of the waistband of his pants, a flat handled knife strapped to his left forearm, a push blade in the inside breast pocket of his jacket, a garotte wire in his collar, and two color-coded hypodermic needles strapped to his right ankle—green for unconsciousness, red for death.

He never carried this much firepower under normal circumstances. For one thing, if an assassin needed this much weaponry to get the job done or ensure a safe entry and exit, he or she was not a very good assassin. And he knew he was a fucking amazing assassin. Tonight he carried this much for the possibility of needing the volume of bullets. It was entirely possible the family would not take kindly to Sokolov’s little coup d’etat and Castiel would need to shoot his way out. At any given time there were about twenty or thirty suits on the grounds, which didn’t include all the family members that would be armed. He really hoped it wouldn’t come to that as he exited the stairwell into the concrete parking structure. It never made much financial sense to kill your employers, no matter how obnoxious or handsy they got.

A mother with her young son almost bumped into him as he made his way to the corner where he kept his cars. She would have slammed fully into any other person she was so engrossed with trying to understand the kid’s babbling, but Castiel turned, leaned, increased his pace, and was past them without incident. But it was a near thing. In the dimness of the garage with its monochromatic grey walls and floors, it was hard to see bodies sometimes—they just blended in. Grey, flat things that moved and made noise and danced along the periphery of his vision most of the time. Sometimes they got in the way. Sometimes animals and plants and rocks got in the way too. He did the same with the bodies as he would a troublesome branch—he moved it in the most efficient manner.

He’d explained it to his brother once—the one under the floorboards of their old house—that of course he could tell the difference between a human body and a rock. He just didn’t see what the difference was in kicking a body and kicking a rock. What fundamental difference was there in breaking a stick and breaking an arm? Neither the rock nor the body mattered to him. Neither the branch nor the arm was a thing he cared about. Why did it matter that the body parts mattered to others? What did that have to do with him?

He wouldn’t have broken his brother’s arm though. He hadn't been a black and white object taking up space like so much of the other things in the world. His brother had been in sharp focus and full color. One of only three or four people who had ever been so. Castiel’s first employer, the man who had brought him into the family, had been one of the few. The first Kuznetsov been the smartest man Castiel had ever known. Crueler than was probably necessary, but also a bleeding heart when it came to his granddaughter and puppies. Castiel didn’t care about the puppies, but the granddaughter had been one of those swirling collections of color—those people who were people and stood out from the things and objects—but still a mess and complicated and not worth much of his time. Her colors had always been weak though, and as Castiel had suspected were only there because she meant something to Kuznetsov, because her colors had faded completely away after the man’s death.

Kuznetsov had taught him to be ruthless and to be very grudging when doling out mercy. He’d also taught him that sex wasn’t just a weapon or a way to get rid of horniness. He’d been fifteen the first time Kuznetsov had watched him fuck his granddaughter. He’d been seventeen when Kuznetsov had decided to try to fuck Castiel—it hadn’t ended well for the mafia boss. It also hadn’t ended well for Castiel’s mentor who had taken the fall for it. Castiel didn’t regret framing the man at all. He couldn’t even remember his name at this point, but Castiel knew after only a few months under his tutelage when he’d been thirteen that the man was doing everything wrong. His colors bled everywhere; he wasn’t worthy. Four years was a long time to put up with his incompetence. It hadn’t even been fun hunting him down and killing him on behalf of the family. It had been too easy. He hated the man for that—for not giving him a challenge. Castiel deserved a challenge and it was annoying to feel anything so strongly for a man who wasn’t worth the effort. How much better could he be if he’d had a real mentor? He’d only met one or two other hit men who would be equal to the task—both of whom came in real color. He wondered what they were up to as he unlocked the door to the Aston Martin. He felt like being ostentatious tonight.

Out on the streets the sidewalks were crawling with grey objects blocking his car, getting in his way. But he knew they couldn’t be driven over. Apparently that was an offense that warranted incarceration. He may not understand the reasoning behind the rules, but he knew how to follow them. When he wanted to.

One of the grey objects suddenly developed a swirl of color—Castiel recognized the lump of a gun under his jacket. Not a cop, just a civilian. Gun enthusiast or criminal, it didn’t matter. Whatever he was doing wouldn’t affect him as he turned the corner at the end of the block. His eyes scanned the streets, windows, sidewalks, fire escapes—nothing was registering. He turned his thoughts to the meeting. Hopefully Sokolov had figured out a cleverer way of handling the whole situation than just saying, “I’m in charge now, deal with it!” Maybe that would work though. Whatever would make it possible for him to not have to say a word and be able to leave and go home and try out the cock cage on Dean. He’d never used one before, and he had a feeling it wouldn’t be as exciting as the box promised, but he liked the look in Dean’s eyes when he told him he wanted to try something new: equal parts terror and arousal.

Castiel chuckled as he thought about Dean. He was a beautiful swirl of color—always had been. It was why he’d noticed him that day, a burst of color up on the catwalk that made him come to a full stop. Marv stood beside him, his colors murky and messy, but he was the one in charge most of the time, which made him important. A couple other guards were in color depending on whether they were useful or dangerous, just like the inmates. Castiel had studied Dean intently, trying to figure out why he was in color—very bright, spiraling messy colors—since he didn’t have any apparent usefulness nor was he even a remote danger. The thought had crossed his mind that he’d just thought he was pretty, but a lot of the black and white objects were very attractive. That didn’t mean they deserved colors. Though Dean _was_ very pretty. And ultimately useful. Perhaps Castiel had figured that out right from the start. His colors had faded since then. Not into black and white, but away from the false brightness he had been to more reasonable and easy to live with colors. They swirled a lot less now too.

Castiel gunned the engine and made a hard turn, yanking up on the emergency brake to force the car to spin across the lane of oncoming traffic and into a parking space along the curb. There was a surprised honk, but it had happened so fast the other driver wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. Castiel got out of the car and walked toward the vehicle that had caught his attention. A quick check verified that this was Alexei’s car. He glanced around the area, wondering if there was any reason for him to be parked three blocks from Castiel’s building that didn’t have something to do with Castiel himself. Unlikely. He touched the hood of the car. Stone cold. It had been off awhile, which meant if Alexei had come to see him, he would have made it to the apartment before Castiel had left. Of course, Alexei shouldn’t know where he lived. The only way he could have found out was to follow someone. He certainly hadn’t stalked Castiel without him knowing, but Dean was blind as a bat when it came to his surroundings. Maybe he should have taught him a little something about looking for dangers and tails. Certainly after the incident with Banger it would have made sense to give him a couple of pointers along with the new gun. Ah, well, hindsight.

Castiel sighed as he looked over at his car. He was going to be late, but he better go check on the situation. If Alexei was waiting for an opportunity to get Dean alone, it probably wouldn’t be for a social call. Castiel jogged across the street and back toward his building. Dozens of scenarios flashed through his mind, the possibilities of what he would find and how he would react, creating a chaotic tree of options in his mind’s eye.

He couldn’t kill Alexei. Even if the kid was raping Dean with a pine cone all he could do was give him a slap on the wrist. But Alexei probably wouldn’t be interested in punishing Dean sexually. He’d want it to be brutal violence with hard, lethal objects. Castiel had been impressed with the amount of damage the kid had done to his muggers with that tire iron in such a short amount of time. He hadn’t wanted to stop—eyes glazed with bloodlust and body hot with adrenaline and energy. Castiel had had to waste too much time calming him down and convincing him to give up the weapon. The cops had shown up and Castiel could do nothing about the bodies. All he knew was that the security camera was at such an angle that it wouldn’t be able to capture who exactly had done the beating. It’s what enabled Castiel to take the fall for him. He wouldn’t have done it for any of the other family’s spoiled children. He would have disappeared and let them hang. Of course, none of the other children would have beaten three men to a bloody pulp because they’d tried to take their wallet.

Alexei was in color. He had been in color for a long time, since he was a preadolescent child. Castiel recognized something in him that would make him a good boss, a clever, ruthless leader like the first Kuznetsov. Over the years his colors had sharpened or muddied depending on whether or not he had control over his emotions and thoughts. Sometimes Castiel knew he would be the best person to succeed the reigning triumvirate, and at other times he suspected he would have to kill him. Now though, with only Sokolov at the helm, killing his only son would not be a feasible option until the other families had a chance to consolidate their power again. No matter how it played out, Alexei couldn’t be trusted. Castiel frowned as he opened the door to his building. He didn’t want to move. That meant Dean had to go. Or maybe he could just keep him locked up in his room. Dean said that would kill him slowly; Castiel doubted it. Food, air, sunlight, and sex should be enough to keep him going. Then again, Dean was so odd.

Castiel cursed silently when he heard the gunshot. Most people might mistake it for a car backfiring or some other easy to explain away sound. One or two might recognize it as a gunshot. Even with the echo from the stairwell and the walls and the distance Castiel could tell it was a large caliber handgun. Dean’s gun was a 9mm. That did not bode well for Dean. As Castiel yanked open the door to the second floor, he tried to remember if he had enough plastic and duct tape to complete the dismemberment or if he’d have to go out and buy some. Maybe he’d send Alexei to Home Depot, the little shit. Or what if Alexei was dead? He definitely knew he didn’t have enough for two bodies. If Alexei was dead—he'd have to kill Dean before going to Home Depot. Or, he could send Dean to the store and kill him when he got back. Maybe there was some way to tell Sokolov it had been an accident? Would he care about self-defense? Would he have time to stage a carjacking? Maybe he should be positive—maybe neither were dead and the couple in the apartment across the hall was having a domestic dispute.

Castiel turned the unlocked doorknob—had Dean really not locked it after he’d left? Maybe he wasn’t worth the effort after all—carefully and entered the apartment with no sound; he knew exactly where and how to step to conceal his approach. He saw Alexei standing with a gun drawn on Dean who had his hands in the air and an angry expression on his face. He was clearly scared shitless, but he was angry about it, not sniveling and pathetically desperate to live. He was such a good boy.

Castiel crossed the room and neither of them heard him. Dean’s eyes flicked to him as he finally caught Castiel’s movements when he raised the gun he had drawn from his shoulder holster. Alexei’s face just started to register that he noticed Dean was looking at _something_ and not just for a way out. Before he could turn his head or even get his eyes to start moving in that split second since Dean’s eyes had moved, Castiel put a bullet through his brain and he dropped to the floor like a rock. Dean flinched back and Castiel stared down at Alexei’s body. Hunh. He’d intended to put the barrel against his temple and get him to surrender his weapon, but then he’d seen Alexei’s trigger finger twitch. The gun had been up and firing before Alexei had been able to shoot his gun and blow Dean’s face off. Of course, he may have just been flexing his fingers—that was a bad habit of his that Castiel had tried to break him of—how ironic that it had come back to haunt him.

Castiel dropped the arm that held the gun. “Well, shit.”

“C-Castiel, I didn’t—“

“Pack a bag.”

“W-what?”

“Pack a bag. Just the essentials. Two minutes.”

Castiel stepped over Alexei’s body; it was grey now. He walked into his bedroom and pulled out the small black duffle from the closet shelf. He kept it around in case of—well, not shit like this. This scenario had never crossed his mind. But the bag would accommodate it anyway. He left the room and could hear Dean tearing around in his. He probably should have also told Dean to keep a bag packed and ready to go. Why was he so lax when it came to Dean? Probably because if he ever needed to use his black emergency bag, he’d never intended to take Dean with him. He probably shouldn’t now. But the reason he had to leave was because he’d done something so that Dean wouldn’t be dead—he might as well reap the benefits of Dean still being alive.

Dean ran into the living room with a backpack over his shoulder and his laptop under his arm. He looked a little vacant in the eyes. Castiel wondered what was wrong with him.

“Can I take this?” Dean asked, indicating the laptop. “Or can they track it?”

“They wouldn’t know what to track. Keep it.”

Dean slung the backpack around to his front and opened the back compartment to slip the laptop in. Castiel caught a glimpse of the picture frame with Dean’s family in it. That again? Dean zipped it up and threw it back on. He looked down at Alexei’s body and swallowed hard.

“Do we—do we have to—should we…”

“Did you pack your gun?”

Dean’s head snapped up. “What?”

Castiel felt that stiff cold feeling that came with disappointment and exasperation. “Get the gun I gave you tonight.”

Dean darted back down the hall and Castiel glanced around the room. Alexei’s blood and brains were staining the hard wood floors. That whole section would probably have to be completely torn up and replaced; the wood was ruined.

Dean returned, breathing hard and clutching the gun in his hand.

“Dean, in the bag.”

As he fumbled with the backpack to store the weapon, Castiel walked toward the door.

“Are we leaving?” Dean asked, following him into the hallway.

“Yes. Did you put on the safety?”

“What, now? And, yes, of course.”

Castiel glanced back at him with a small smile as he opened the door to the stairwell. As upset as he was, Dean still had the wherewithal to be careful with the gun and indignant that Castiel thought he wouldn’t be. He was so amusing sometimes.

“But the body,” Dean started again, stumbling slightly on the stairs.

“What about it?”

“Should we hide it?”

“Dean, two gunshots were fired within the space of two minutes. While this is Chicago, that is still cause for some alarm. Especially in this neighborhood. We probably have two to twenty minutes before the cops arrive and we need to be gone before then.”

“Right.”

Castiel stepped out onto the ground floor rather than continuing to the garage. He assumed Dean was behind him. He thought about his closet full of carefully collected weapons and concoctions. He wished he had the time to pull out a few of the rarer items, but he really couldn’t risk getting caught or trying to shoot his way out of this. Being in prison had put him in the fucking system, and his prints were everywhere in that apartment. So were Dean’s. Fortunately he’d had the foresight to ask the same hacker who had replaced his prints with someone else’s to do the same for Dean shortly after bringing him home. Kyle Eggers and Ryan Howard were about to have a very bad night.

Castiel walked the five blocks to where he’d last parked the Hyundai Genesis he kept around for when he needed to blend in. All of the objects along the way stayed black and white except for a German Shepherd that popped out in a burst of brown and black. Castiel quickly determined it was a pet being taken for a walk, but its colors didn’t fade completely. Dogs and other animals were often unpredictable variables that needed to be kept track of.

Using the key fob, Castiel popped the trunk and threw his bag in. Dean dumped his backpack in as well and Castiel turned to look at him. He was pale and ashen and his colors were dull and muted with shock and fear. But at least he was still obeying instructions.

“In the car, baby,” he said soothingly, knowing it would get Dean to move the fastest. Dean responded to threats and shouting just like anybody else, but calm commands made it easier for him to obey without mentally questioning the order.

Castiel got in the driver’s seat, started the car, and drove away from his life in Chicago. He wasn’t going to miss anything. Well, maybe that Remington pump action shotgun in the closet. And also…he turned his head. Dean was in the passenger seat. Well, he wouldn’t have to miss him after all if he’d brought him with him. He wondered how Dean would have handled being caught with Alexei’s body by the police. He probably would have been smart and told them everything about Castiel and insisted he’d been kidnapped from LA. His boy was clever like that. He might have even gotten away with it. He hadn’t killed Alexei after all and if hooked up to a polygraph he certainly wouldn’t be lying if he said he’d left LA under duress.

Now here was the question Castiel had to ponder as he maneuvered through the late night weekend traffic of Chicago toward the highway: Did he _need_ to get rid of Dean? Killing him seemed ridiculous at this point. If he was going to let him die, why not just let Alexei do it? He’d probably be able to get back to Texas and reunite with his family. The problem was not knowing how much Sokolov and his network knew about Dean. Possibly they knew enough to find him and his family. And while Castiel wouldn’t risk his life for someone who had been a nice lay and a source of entertainment, he wasn’t about to let the family have the satisfaction of “using Dean to hurt him.” It was a point of pride—not that he cared about pride much. It’s what had kept him alive this long, but the thought of one of Sokolov’s lesser hit men killing Dean to "get to him" was galling. Mainly because they would think Castiel had enough of an attachment to him to give two shits about whether he lived or died and that was just insulting.

Castiel glanced at Dean—he was staring at him. His eyes were wide and his hands were clenched into fists. Sometimes he did wonder what went on in that head of his. Now was not one of those times. He faced front again as he entered the highway and kept his speed at about five miles per hour over the speed limit.

He was going to have to eliminate Sokolov and the threat he posed before he set Dean loose. It would only be for a few days, maybe a week tops, and then Dean could go home. Maybe he could try to forget any of this had ever happened. Unlikely, but then he’d seen people’s brains trick themselves into believing any number of lies to help cope with trauma. He remembered a woman in Spokane who had made herself believe that the only baby she’d ever had was her pet dog. Her son had been viciously raped and murdered when he was seven or eight and she’d preferred to believe he’d never existed. Probably because she’d allowed it to happen because she didn’t want to stand up to her boyfriend. A man who was a sadistic murderer who had been hired to go after one of the second Kuznetsov’s cousins. Castiel had had fun killing him. It seemed like the popular opinion was that it didn’t matter if bad guys suffered—“the people” were usually all for it. Castiel had seen _Dexter_. It had been one of his protégé’s favorite shows. So he’d flayed him alive. And then poked the woman full of holes until she’d succumbed. He and his third protégé had fucked in the puddle of blood as the heat steamed away into the cool night air. That had been a good night.

Castiel looked at Dean again. He had his hands clasped tightly together and his jaw looked to be clenched painfully hard. Dean would never have agreed to have sex in her warm, thick, slick blood—Castiel inhaled as he felt his groin tingle—especially not with her still gasping beside them. And yet—he would have already killed that third protégé by now if he (or had it been a she?) had been in the same situation with Alexei. Castiel frowned. He wanted to speed and he wanted understand why he was taking such a big risk for something that made his dick feel good. A lot of things made his dick feel good. Castiel lifted one hand from the wheel and rubbed his head. Well, for starters, Dean wasn’t a thing. He was a person. He had to actually put thought into whether or not a person should be killed. And well, he hadn’t thought about killing Dean. Not lately anyway. He was caught a little off guard.

Castiel slammed his hand down on top of the gearshift. When was the last fucking time he’d ever been caught off guard by something? About sixteen years ago and his brother had died as a result. He’d thought that Dean defying Kuznetsov and his own threats against the family would be enough to keep him immune from their desires—either to use his flesh or use him as a bargaining chip. Why had it not occurred to him that Alexei would see that as a challenge? As an insult? Because he thought the kid was worth something. He realized now, his colors had faded so much even before he'd shot him. Just like his brother’s. Wanting an out, wanting a wife and children. Castiel had been so upset by the news he’d driven directly to his brother’s home to confront him. He’d been appalled to find his brother’s colors faded and starting to blur around the edges. His mentor had followed him. The man had murdered his brother and his brother’s pregnant wife. Castiel had gone to the original Kuznetsov, asking for permission to kill the incompetent bastard. He’d been refused. Castiel wasn’t an idiot—he knew Kuznetsov desired him, so he let him think he was vulnerable enough to be taken. He wanted to test the man to see if he was actually worthy of his admiration. As Kuznetsov had rutted against him, Castiel realized the man had no vision. Not outside what would get him his own desires. Just as the man had flipped him onto his back and shoved his knees up, exposing him—completely dry, unprepared, and virginal—Castiel had easily sliced off his erect cock with the knife he kept in his jacket. Kuznetsov had screamed. Of course he’d screamed, and Castiel had sat beside him and stuck him, shallowly, with the knife until he bled out.

Castiel put a hand to his groin. He loved that memory. Watching Kuznetsov—the man who was probably behind the hit on his brother, the man who had made Castiel fuck his granddaughter for his amusement, the man who thought he owned Castiel rather than just employed him—die with a wild, betrayed look in his eyes had been a good feeling. Castiel’s hand had become slick with his blood; it made a good lubricant as he jacked himself in front of the dying man. Let him have his last fantasy before he died, Castiel could give him that much. Castiel wondered if that’s why he found blood so arousing.

The sun was just starting to appear on the horizon in front of him. He must have been driving for no less than five hours. He would need to stop in another hour or so for gas and food. He wondered if they could find a place that served Jell-O…He turned his head, remembering Dean. He was slumped in the passenger seat with his head tilted at an odd angle as it rested half on the seat and half on the window. He looked to be asleep. Castiel reached out and rubbed his thigh. The kid snorted awake and looked at him, blinking bleary eyes. Then he made a pained face and rubbed his neck as he straightened.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“I’ll need to stop soon, but we can stop now if you need to.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m fine until you’re ready.”

Castiel examined him closely, wondering if he was just trying to placate him. He spoke too casually and distractedly. He meant it. Then his body tensed and he closed his eyes. He didn’t look well.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked.

“Noth—“ Dean clammed up. He knew better than to lie. Castiel was pleased with him. “Nothing that matters right now,” Dean said instead.

“Is it the killing or the running?” Castiel asked.

Dean laughed humorlessly. “Both.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Castiel pointed out.

“No. But I wanted to. God, Castiel, I wanted to fucking murder him. What he said—fuck. I know you’re not mine, but I would bash his head in with that stupid dolphin paperweight you kept in the kitchen to keep him from having you.”

Castiel had never experienced so many reactions at once. Pride and surprise that Dean had truly felt murderous; annoyance that Dean didn’t like his paperweight—that had been a gift from his brother; displeasure at Dean even thinking about having ownership of him; amusement at his jealousy; arousal at his perfection.

Castiel jerked the car onto the shoulder and parked beneath an underpass. It was still mostly dark out, but the sun was rising quickly. They couldn’t afford to be picked up by the police right now, so this was going to have to be fast. He turned the car off and opened the door, instructing Dean to get out. He obeyed immediately. Fuck, he was amazing. He ordered Dean back in the car as he opened the driver’s side backdoor. Dean got in on the other side and let himself be pulled across the seat by his legs, laying him out flat on his back. They pulled the doors shut with hard thunks and Castiel kissed him as he rutted between his legs. Dean liked kissing. Castiel could do without it, but it made Dean more pliant. And it wasn’t terrible. Dean liked to nibble on his lower lip and Castiel found that that wasn’t a bad stimulus.

Castiel made quick work of Dean’s jeans and underwear, shoving them to his ankles. He sat up and hooked Dean’s legs over his head so he could slide back against his body. He rubbed the soft, smooth fabric of his dress pants over Dean’s forming erection. His boy moaned at the sensation.

“Shirt,” Castiel ordered and Dean’s hands fumbled with the hem of his T-shirt as he worked on undoing the fly of his pants.

Castiel grabbed the fabric of Dean’s T-shirt where it had gathered around his hands above his head and made quick work of securing him to the door handle. Dean hummed and shifted against him. Castiel sat on one bent leg, the other braced on the floor as he took their cocks in one hand and began stroking them slowly, but firmly. Dean opened his eyes and watched Castiel’s hand move. He raised his eyes and looked up at Castiel. A small smile formed on his lips.

“Look at you, pretty. Accessory to murder, on the run from the cops _and_ the Russian mafia, and here you are happily spreading for me like the good, obedient boy you are.”

Dean closed his eyes and turned his head. Castiel yanked violently on their cocks and said, “Look at me.” Dean gasped in pain, but turned his head back and opened his eyes.

“Would you change anything, Dean?”

“I would have killed Alexei. I would have done it quietly. I know you know how to get rid of bodies. We wouldn’t have had to leave. I’m sorry I ruined everything for you.”

Castiel laughed; like Dean had any influence on the proceedings. Castiel spread Dean’s legs farther apart, lifting one above his head. He put two fingers to Dean’s mouth and watched as he sucked on them enthusiastically. He brought them back and immediately began circling Dean’s hole and pressing them inside. Dean’s body easily accepted the intrusion. His rim had gotten used to the daily stretching, but his hole still stayed nice and tight around him when he fucked him. He’d stopped using dildos bigger than himself on the kid; no sense ruining a good thing.

“Lift your hips, baby boy.”

Dean obeyed and Castiel spit into his palm. He slicked up his cock a little and then pressed inside. This was it—the only moment he completely forgot his meticulous attention to detail and ignored his surroundings—sinking into Dean’s body. Even during orgasm he could keep his focus; he liked to watch other people come. Controlling someone’s orgasm could be very entertaining, but watching their reactions to him coming in them or on them never ceased to be amusing. But this brief moment of feeling Dean’s body taking him in—it was something different; it was something that belonged only to him. No one had ever been inside him before Castiel, and no one ever would be again. Castiel owned this and he allowed himself the indulgence no matter how often he partook of it.

He circled his hips, making sure he got in good and deep. Dean arched off the seat, pulling at his bonds. He let out a string of obscenities, but Castiel let it slide. He’d meant it when he said he didn’t like foul language coming from his pretty lips, but he liked the way Dean’s voice sounded when he growled out his profanities. He was still quite young and had some growing to do yet, and that growl was proof that one day Dean’s voice would be deeper and grittier. It was a shame he wouldn’t be around to hear it.

Castiel slowed his movements as he felt Dean kicking his feet around behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that he’d removed one shoe so that he could pull his leg out of his pants and underwear and plant it against the side of the car near the roof. It spread him wider and gave him the leverage to grind back against Castiel’s body. Eventually Castiel stopped moving altogether and just watched Dean fuck himself on his dick. He chuckled and rubbed his hands along Dean’s thighs.

“Fuck, baby boy. Lift your hips...now lower them, slowly! Slowly. Good boy. Back up, down again. Now grind against me, baby. Hard, Dean, take me fucking deep.”

Dean cried out and jammed his body against Castiel’s. Castiel hissed and grabbed onto his thigh to keep his balance. For fuck’s sake this kid was incredible. It wasn’t just his beauty or his obedience or his damage. Castiel understood now as he watched Dean’s face. He’d had a lot of sex with a lot of people and some objects. They had all enjoyed it. Except when he’d intended for them not to enjoy it. They had been in it for the pleasure and the pain and in an effort to be in his good graces or impress him somehow. Dean might be the first and only one that actually _liked_ having sex with him.

The morning sun broke the horizon and an orange beam of light lanced into the car. Castiel leaned forward and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. He moved inside him slowly and deliberately. Dean undulated with him.

“Good boy, keep it up,” Castiel said and Dean pulled at his bonds again.

“Castiel, please!”

“What is it, sweet boy? Is this not enough for you?”

“Never.” He fucked down hard on Castiel. “Try harder.”

Castiel’s hand was at Dean’s throat before he could decide if he wanted to hurt him or just scare him. He went for hurt and pressed down hard. Dean choked and his body jerked in response. Castiel let up. Sometimes those jerking movements felt incredibly good—knowing the body was simply trying to stay alive, which had nothing to do with trying to please him. He didn’t like that movement in Dean. He liked it better when Dean moved with purpose. Dean coughed as he tried to laugh.

“What’s the matter, Castiel? Never been criticized before?”

Castiel leaned down and threaded the fingers of both hands in Dean’s hair. He pulled hard, but not as hard as he could. He snapped his hips forward again and again. Dean yanked desperately at the T-shirt, ripping it partially, but his hands remained tied. His leg worked hard to push against the car, meeting Castiel thrust for thrust. The car rocked on its suspension and Castiel tilted Dean’s head back, exposing his throat, making his chest arch, and his hips angle down. Castiel knew it was uncomfortable for him, but it made the angle perfect for himself.

He fucked Dean hard, fast, relentlessly, and growled out his claim.

“Y-yes!” Dean managed to get out. “Yours, Castiel, yours. Fuck, just—oh my fucking God! Castiel! Castiel!”

Castiel grinned as he watched Dean’s whole body spasm and his cock ejaculated thick white stripes of come almost straight up. Dean’s chest and stomach were covered in his spend and Castiel swiped a hand through the mess. He licked off a glob from his palm and then shoved his fingers into Dean’s mouth. He cleaned them dutifully.

“Good boy.” Castiel started rocking his hips again. “Where do you want me to come, sweet boy?”

“I—unn. In me. Inside me.”

“Well, I knew that much, you little cumslut. How do you want it?”

Castiel smirked as Dean’s features made it clear how much of a dilemma this decision was for him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever met any person or object that liked the taste of jizz as much as Dean did.

“Stay where you are,” Dean finally said. “Come inside me.”

Castiel leaned forward and again began a slow, rolling rhythm into his boy's body. He kissed his lips and allowed Dean to thrust his tongue inside his mouth. He liked the way Dean tasted when he’d be fed his own come. He pulled back and made his thrusts a little harder. He wondered if he could pull a new kink out of Dean.

“You want me to come inside you, baby boy?”

Dean moaned in response.

“You want me to put my seed in you, deep in your cunt, and breed you like you belong to me?”

Dean opened his eyes and did not look happy with that suggestion. Castiel chuckled and increased his pace. So maybe Dean wasn’t into feminization, but he was more fun when he was riled up.

“You want that, Castiel? You miss pussy that much? Seems odd seeing as how much you liked sucking my dick.”

Castiel’s hips snapped forward so hard he actually hurt himself. Dean gritted his teeth against a scream of pain. Castiel dug his fingers into Dean’s pectoral muscles. Dean threw his head back and arched his body.

“Oh, God, Castiel…”

Castiel moved again, easier, but faster. The car rocked harder. Dean opened his eyes and met Castiel’s. His mouth fell open and he grunted with each thrust of Castiel’s hips.

“Is it good, Castiel? Am I good enough for you?”

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” Castiel responded automatically.

Dean screamed again, but not in pain, as he arched up, pulled at his bonds, and came again. His dick pulsed out one clear burst of come and his ass tightened like a vise. Castiel cursed as Dean’s second orgasm took him by surprise and made him shoot inside his body. How was it possible? This kid had just come two minutes ago. Fuck, he hadn’t been ready for that. He slowly opened his eyes and realized he’d completely zoned out for a moment. Dean was looking at him with desperation and longing. He pulled at the shirt. It tore.

“Castiel, please!”

He leaned forward and unwound Dean’s hands. The kid immediately sat up and kissed him, and then wrapped his arms around his neck and hugged him. Castiel sat still, his dick softening inside his boy’s come drenched hole. His breathing was slightly irregular and he could hear his own heartbeat. He put a hand to Dean’s trembling shoulder and turned his head to look at the sun that was now fully above the horizon. He hadn’t seen it. He hadn’t seen the sunrise at all. Castiel pushed Dean back and he fell onto the seat weakly. Castiel stared at him. His colors—were solid. They had stopped swirling; they had stopped being too bright; they had stopped being the wrong colors. He saw Dean the way he saw himself in mirrors.

Castiel pulled out and Dean made a soft noise of protest. He opened the car door and backed out, pulling his pants up and fastening them.

“Get dressed quickly. We need to get moving.”

Dean obeyed. Of course he obeyed. Castiel got in the driver’s seat and started the car. He waited for Dean to scramble into his clothes and then get into the front seat. Castiel turned to look at him. He was still solid colors.

“What?” Dean asked anxiously as he fastened his seat belt.

“I’ve never seen you before now,” Castiel replied.

Understandably, Dean looked confused.

“Why? Never looked at my face before? Just the holes that could be filled?”

The edges smudged, blurred, and released his colors. They swirled out around him, back to normal.

Castiel frowned. “Careful, boy. I have little enough reason as it is to keep you alive right now.”

Dean shrank back against his side of the car. Castiel pulled back onto the empty highway and decided to skip the next town on the sign and wait for something bigger.

***

Six hours out from Chicago, Castiel had stopped for gas and to buy them breakfast. Dean had suggested Chick-fil-A. Castiel hated standing in lines with all the other objects, so he’d made Dean do it. They were back on the road again shortly and Castiel wished they had time to make this road trip like the one from LA to Chicago, stopping every two or three hours so that he could try out a new toy or kink or position with Dean, but unfortunately he had somewhere he needed to be. He wondered if when Dean had started rubbing his thigh he’d been thinking about the same thing. He’d gotten an answer when Dean had started palming his groin, and then unbuckled his seatbelt to lean over and blow him.

It had been slow and methodical; clearly the kid hadn’t been in any rush, so Castiel had held off, wondering how long he could go for. After thirty minutes he knew Dean's neck and back and especially jaw must be killing him, but he made him go a little longer. Forty-five minutes after Dean had started he’d spilled down his throat and hummed his pleasure at how proud he was of his good boy. Then he’d made Dean recline his chair back, pull out his cock, and jerk off for him. He’d watched him for almost another thirty minutes as Dean had touched himself and writhed in his seat and panted and moaned and breathed Castiel’s name. He’d nearly driven off the road when Dean had finally come. The kid could really be distracting.

For the remaining hour they had left to drive though, Dean had been withdrawn and sullen, staring out the passenger side window. Castiel had asked him two questions and he had answered dutifully, but dully. He just didn’t understand him. His mood swings were always a little confusing for him. Despite not understanding why people felt the way they did, he was usually pretty good at predicting when and how people would react to situations. He had about a fifty-fifty shot of getting it right with Dean. He didn’t like that.

When they arrived in a suburb of northern Virginia, he got them a room at a Quality Inn and made sure it was on the first floor. Dean followed him inside, clutching his bag of Jimmy Johns as Castiel did a quick overview of the room for his own comfort—checking for blind spots, entrances and exits, possible weapons, and hiding places. He opened his black duffel bag and pulled out a plain wristwatch. He turned to give it to Dean, wondering why the kid was following him around the room and was standing right on his ass, and discovered the answer to that when Dean kissed him. Dean put his arms behind his neck, but kept his grip loose; he had learned not to tighten his arms around Castiel’s neck the hard way.

“How do you want me?” Dean whispered against his lips.

He undulated in a serpentine glide against Castiel’s body and Castiel pondered that question. There were so many options to consider as Dean sucked on his tongue. Then he suddenly pulled back.

“Oh, no, that’s not why we stopped.” Castiel chuckled. “You are amazing, baby boy.” Dean preened in his arms and he was beautiful. “I appreciate you knowing your purpose and looking to be proactive here, but I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”

He pushed Dean away and set the timer on the wristwatch for twenty-five hours. He pushed the button to activate the countdown and then fastened the watch around Dean’s wrist. The kid looked at it, so Castiel put a finger under his chin and bumped his head up to look at him.

“If I’m not back by the time this goes off, take the keys to the Genesis and drive to Texas. Back to your family, okay?”

Dean’s expression was difficult to interpret, so he shrugged it off. He zipped up his black duffel and started for the door.

“Then what?”

Castiel turned back. He tilted his head. Fuck it, this kid was impossible to understand. He looked positively stricken.

“Then what, what?”

“What do I do when I get to Texas?”

Castiel put out a confused hand with an air of I don’t give a shit attached to it. “I don’t know. Whatever it is people do in Texas. Live your life.”

He turned back to the door, got it open, and damn it he turned back to look at his boy. He was sitting on the bed, large, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He paused. He did not have time for this. He hated it when people cried. He didn’t understand the point of tears, outside of the desperate need to be allowed to come. And pain. He supposed he understand why people cried when their fingernails were ripped off. But this? He’d shot people for less than this. He was consternated to find that not only did he not want to shoot Dean for crying, but he wanted to know why he was crying. He’d never cared why people cried before, why should he waste time on this? He should just leave. Then again, he was curious. He liked to know the answer to things he was curious about. So he’d never been interested in why people cried before, who cared that he did now in this particular situation? No sense in cutting his nose off to spite his own face. His brother used to say that all the time.

Castiel shut the door and faced Dean. “Why are you crying?”

Dean’s head jerked up, clearly surprised to find Castiel still in the room. He immediately wiped the tears off his cheeks and shook his head. He looked scared.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m—“

“You’re sorry, I get that. Why are you crying?”

Dean forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it. You have somewhere to be. I’ll get over it.”

The color drained from Dean’s face. Apparently his own expression must have changed. People had told him before that he sometimes got these looks in his eyes that could make even the blood of a snake run cold. He never felt or noticed a change; well, he supposed he could feel his patience running thin.

“I just…” Dean started and looked away. Castiel could tell he was gathering his thoughts. “It’s just I thought I was happy in Chicago. I know now that was an illusion, but I thought we—“

“Why do you think it was an illusion?” Castiel interrupted. “If you felt happy, you were happy.”

“I—I guess. But it’s only because I was fooling myself.”

“About what?”

“About your feelings for me. I mean, I always told myself that you didn’t care about me, but I think I must have stopped believing that.”

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “Dean. I really have to go somewhere. Can you please start making sense?”

Castiel’s eyes snapped open. Had he just used the word please?

Dean’s face was a scrunched up mess of anger and sadness. “Why do I have to wait twenty-five hours? If you want to get rid of me and send me home, why can’t I just leave now?!”

Castiel stared at him. Dean shrank in on himself. He wasn’t a small person, but somehow he managed to look like a child on that queen bed.

“Dean. I said _if_ I’m not back in twenty-five hours, go home to your family.”

Dean’s features suddenly cleared and he looked a little surprised. “You’re coming back for me?”

“That’s my intention.”

Dean’s face broke into a beatific smile.

“Starting to question that decision now.”

Dean tried to hide a laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I misunderstood you and held you up. You’ve got somewhere you need to be.”

“That’s what I—“

Castiel stopped and turned away to open the door. He walked through it and slammed it shut. Strangest person on the planet without a doubt. As Castiel broke into an older model Honda he wondered what to do with the fact that he wasn’t angry or upset that Dean had delayed him with his nonsense. He supposed it had been a long time sense a person or object or even a job had really interested him. Hold a gun to his head and he would never be able to explain why Dean interested him, but at least it broke up the monotony.

By the time he made the turn into Langley, Dean was gone from his mind. He received a visitor parking pass and made the long walk from the visitor lot to the main doors. He gave a false name at the security desk and stated who he was there to see, and then sat down and waited. Almost an hour later Brenna Johnson appeared in the lobby and started to approach the security desk. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Castiel. She skipped going to the security desk since she clearly knew who was here to see her. She crossed the tile floor, looking smart in her knee-length grey pencil skirt and waist length suit jacket. The undershirt was a pop of light blue color and made her blue-grey eyes a little less grey. Brenna was in color—almost solid colors too. Only the very edges of her outline swirled gently and enticingly.

Her heels clacked sharply on the floor and she stopped in front of him, looking wildly displeased to see him. Her eyes still raked over his body with appreciation, however. Castiel waited for her to make a decision. Brenna got him an escort-required visitor badge and led him inside the building and to an elevator. They went down instead of up.

“I would have come for you sooner if I’d known it was you,” Brenna said. “I didn’t recognize the name.”

“I’m not surprised you didn’t.”

After getting off several floors beneath ground level, Brenna led them to a small room with no windows or two-way mirrors and only a metal table with three chairs. Castiel took a seat and waited for Brenna to finish fidgeting nervously and take a seat as well. She laced her fingers on the table, and then sat up straight, then leaned back in her chair, and then leaned back on the table. Castiel sat still with his legs crossed.

“It’s been a while, Konstantin.”

“Not that long, Brenna.”

Brenna pursed her lips. “What do you want?”

“I’m here to roll on the Sokolovs.”

Brenna sneered. “Still loyal to the Kuznetsovs?”

“The Kuznetsovs and Golubevs are dead. Sokolov is solely in charge of the syndicate. At the moment.”

Brenna looked a little stunned. “I assume you had something to do with that?”

Castiel shrugged.

“Okay. I’m thrilled, really. I mean I assume it will be limited to—“

“It’s not. I’ll give you everything.”

Brenna stared at him. And then blinked. “Everything?”

“And everyone.”

Brenna sat back and looked at Castiel with narrowed eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“Well, obviously, I want something in return.”

“Clearly. But why aren’t you at the FBI? The information you’re giving is their territory if you’re disrupting the spy network.”

“The Sokolovs don’t have one. They have no ties with the motherland. They consider themselves Americans first and foremost.”

“Well, isn’t that patriotic. Why are you here and not at the FBI?”

“I wanted to see you, Brenna.”

“Konstantin—I will shoot you in the face even if I know you’ll kill me first. Don’t be an ass. What do you want?”

Castiel smiled. Oh, yes, he remembered how much fun Brenna could be. And if the way she shifted in her seat and re-crossed her legs were any indication, she remembered how much fun he could be.

“I’m not at the FBI because they would only offer me immunity. I’m here because I want a job.”

Brenna sat back and put her hands in the air. “No. No, no, no. Absolutely not. What else do you want?”

“When have my terms ever been negotiable?”

“Konstantin! We don’t—do that anymore.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, we do, but officially we don’t do that anymore.”

“Which is exactly why you need me. No one will ever catch me.”

“You’re too difficult to control. You can’t be trusted.”

“I can be trusted to do a job I get paid to do. You know I don’t ask questions. You know I don’t have my own ideology. I’ll never care if what you’re doing is wrong or right.”

“Then why are the Kuznetsovs and Golubevs dead?”

“That was—“ Castiel trailed off. It was hard to argue he would never take sides or matters into his own hands when he had done just that with his last employers. “They messed with one of my belongings. If you promise not to mess with my belongings, my loyalty is absolute so long as the checks don’t bounce. And I do things my way.”

“Yes, your way is the problem. And this ‘belonging’ of yours…pray tell, what is the unlucky dupe’s name?”

“Dean.”

“Dean? Sounds like a nerd.”

Castiel involuntarily let out a small laugh. “He does watch a lot of _Star Trek_.”

Brenna tilted her head in thought. She smiled at him and Castiel wondered why he hadn’t already proffered to take her over the table. Why wasn’t he currently fucking her? That was how they usually had these conversations.

“I’m not so stupid as to point out to you that you’ve changed, so let’s pretend for a moment that you can be trusted to work for us. You have to know that this is a federal government agency. While we are fortunate enough to always have our fair share of funding, we obviously can’t pay you as well as a crime syndicate.”

“I’m not asking for this job for the money. I’m asking for the opportunity to have something to do. Something to keep me busy. And I’m sure you won’t mind if I freelance every now and then.”

Brenna suddenly looked a little angry. “All of this for…this Dean, whatever?”

“Not _for_ him. As a result of him.”

“Why is he worth the effort?”

“He gives good head.”

“I give good head,” Brenna griped.

“He’s better.”

Brenna narrowed her eyes at him. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Brenna stood up and straightened her jacket as she walked to the door.

“Brenna?”

“What?”

“I do hope you mean ‘right back.’ I have somewhere I need to be.”

Brenna nodded and swallowed. “I promise it’ll be quick.

Castiel nodded and she was out the door. He made a face. He hated dealing with the government, but this was the easiest way to solve all his problems. He’d have something to keep him preoccupied, the Sokolov syndicate would be wiped out saving Dean from any potential retaliation, and his status as one of America’s Most Wanted would disappear overnight. Wins all around.

Less than fifteen minutes later Brenna returned with an object. Castiel had a vague memory of the male as he extended his hand. Castiel ignored it. The object pulled at his shirt collar a little nervously and then he and Brenna sat down.

“You used to work for Henry Branson,” Castiel said.

“I did,” the object nodded its grey head. “He retired a few years ago. I inherited his cases and his resources. My name is Dan Stenberg. Your file has been an interesting read despite how scarily short it is. Brenna has explained that you’d like to give us the Sokolovs in exchange for a job.” Stenberg smiled. “You mean you want us to take care of the Sokolovs for you _and_ give you a job.”

Dan Stenberg suddenly swirled into color.

“That’s correct.” Brenna looked startled by those words. “I’ll give you the information you’ll need. The witnesses, the bodies, the written communications, the money trails. And I want a job.”

“I agree to your terms. Such as they are. I will work with the FBI to get this moving faster, but we’ll need a couple of months, maybe three or four before we can make the arrests and confiscate their assets and properties.”

“I can accept four months maximum. What job do you have for me?”

“How is your Russian? Native, or with an American accent?”

“Either.”

“I’m going to need you find out some information for me before I can tell you who to kill. Can you do that? I know your specialty is killing, but I need to know if you’re capable of a little spy work as well.”

Dan must feel pretty confident that there were no recording devices in this room if he was speaking so brazenly.

“If you need information, I can get you information.”

“And then I will decide who needs to be taken out. Then you will do it? Regardless of what the information says?”

“Unless the information says _I_ need to be killed, I don’t care.”

“What if my order is clearly asking you to kill the wrong man? What if he’s doing the right thing and killing him protects an enemy of the US?”

“You seem to think that such a distinction would be ‘clear’ to me. A hit is a hit. If you make the wrong decision and it begins a shitstorm, it really is no skin off my nose.”

Brenna smiled. “And what if that wrong decision brings about the demise of our great country? Would you still do it?”

“It doesn’t matter who is in charge. Leaders are always in need of my kind of services.”

“How unpatriotic,” she said with a smirk.

“Perfect!” Dan said. “The only thing is, for this first job, I will need you to go to Russia. Would that be a problem?”

Castiel hesitated. For a moment. “No, that’s fine.”

“Okay. You give us everything on the Sokolovs and we’ll hand it over to the FBI. Then you lay low for a few months and once that’s under control, you can find some information for me. All we need is an account to deposit your paychecks in. Unless there’s anything else you need?”

“Autonomy. I won’t come in to work here. I’ll provide you with a way to contact me, but I’ll answer it when it’s convenient for me. I kill they way I want to kill and requests for ‘accidents’ must be very rare. I don’t leave bodies behind unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll want proof that the Sokolovs and the Kuznetsovs and the Golubevs have been utterly routed before I begin my first mission.”

Brenna cocked her head and Dan raised his eyebrows.

“Are you afraid of them?” Dan asked. Brenna looked at him like he was crazy for asking even though she was clearly thinking the same thing.

“No. But I don’t want to have to keep tabs on them.”

“Why would you? Surely you could disappear if you wanted to.”

“But Dean can’t,” Brenna said, stunned. “Good lord, what I wouldn’t give to meet the man who tamed you.”

Castiel laughed. “Tamed me? It’s not quite that dramatic, Brenna. I just like him better alive than dead.”

“Do you like me alive better than dead?”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever taken the time to consider you either way.”

She frowned at him. “How disappointing. Here I thought you’d developed actual feelings for someone. Turns out it’s only thoughts.”

“More than you ever got though, isn’t it?” Dan cut in.

Brenna glared at him. Dan stood up and extended his hand again. Castiel stood as well and this time shook his hand. Then he handed him a small white business card.

“This is how you can reach me, and where you can deposit my salary.”

Dan looked at the card. “It’s a pleasure to have you on board, Mr. Novak. Brenna, can you escort him back out?”

“Of course,” she said letting them both know exactly what she thought about being Stenberg’s errand girl.

In the elevator, Brenna pressed Castiel up against the wall and kissed him. Again with the kissing? Why did people seem to think it mattered so much? And she didn’t kiss like Dean did. He pushed her back.

“Brenna, is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, he’s already dead.”

“Glad to hear it.”

He checked his watch as the elevator door opened and then followed Brenna back to the lobby. He exchanged his visitor badge for his fake driver’s license and then turned to face Brenna.

“Do you think there’s any credibility in Kuznetsov’s claim that you’re my brother?” she asked.

He shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know where my father went after he left.”

“Hm. But that’s not why you left me.”

“Brenna, I didn’t leave you.”

“You didn’t?” she asked, voice hopeful.

“I was never with you,” he replied, a little confused about where this line of questioning was going and why it had anything to do with him.

Her face fell. “I see.” She looked up at him with a half smile. “Is it okay if I hate this Dean person?”

“So long as you don’t try to do anything about it.”

She put her hands in the air. “Oh, no! You know I would never cross you, right?”

“I would never make that assumption. But that’s why I’m still alive.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. She crossed her arms and said softly, “Goodbye, Konstantin.”

“Goodbye, Brenna. And keep an eye on Dan Stenberg. Don’t turn your back on him.”

“Oh, I know it. Soon, you’ll be my resource and not his.”

Castiel laughed. “I’ll look forward to it…if you haven’t lost your touch.”

Her eyes hardened. “Would you like to find out?”

“Not today. But, that could make for interesting encounter between you and me one day.”

“The one I’ve been looking forward to since the day I met the real you.”

“Until then.”

Castiel left the building and retrieved the Honda from the visitor lot. Based on when the owner had arrived at the motel and how long Castiel’s meeting had lasted, he could probably take the car back and park it where he’d left it and the owner would be none the wiser. In fact, he probably had time to make a stop first. He’d gotten lucky that Branson had retired and that his successor was an arrogant little prick—it had made the negotiations quick and one-sided. He wondered how many months it would be before Brenna made her move. She’d probably let him handle the Sokolovs and the FBI, and then some little scandal would ruin his career and he would “commit suicide” shortly thereafter. She really was a piece of work. Maybe she was his sister.

Castiel returned to the motel less than seven hours after he’d left. He parked the Honda where he’d found it and walked a slightly zig-zag pattern to keep his face off of the security cameras in the area. When he entered the motel room, he found Dean standing tensely in the center of it, one arm across his stomach, his elbow resting on it so he could chew on a thumbnail. He turned at the sound of the door opening. His eyes widened. He glanced at the stopwatch on his wrist. Then he took five long strides across the room and crashed into Castiel. He kissed him and wrapped his arms around his waist and Castiel’s brow creased in annoyance. He was not going to get away from the kissing today.

Dean pried Castiel’s lips open with his tongue and slipped inside. He probed into his mouth while rubbing his obvious erection against Castiel’s thigh. Castiel put his hands on Dean’s shoulders and traced the lines of his shoulder blades through his thin T-shirt. Then he moved his hands down his sides, over his back, and down to his ass. He gripped him with both hands and felt himself growing hard at the thought of being inside Dean’s body—sinking into him, fucking him slowly, coming inside him, and then spreading his legs so he could watch his seed drip back out of him. He clenched his hands tighter and Dean let out a small, eager noise into his mouth, but didn’t break the kiss. The movement also reminded Castiel he had a bag in his hand. He was going to have to put that fantasy on hold—he had other plans.

He pulled back from Dean’s lips just enough to say, “Take your clothes off, sweet boy.”

His boy shivered and then obediently began to pull off every article of clothing. While he was doing that, Castiel removed the bedspread and pillows from the bed. He pulled the blanket and sheet off, leaving only the fitted sheet on the mattress—a perfect blank canvass on which he could work on Dean. He began tearing the flat sheet into strips.

“On your back, baby boy.”

Dean obeyed immediately and put himself spread eagle, already anticipating what Castiel was going to do. He tied each wrist and ankle to the bottom of the bed and then stepped back to admire his boy—beautiful, flawless skin that had lost some of its tan due to the dark Chicago winter; large, cut cock bobbing straight up and bending slightly toward his belly; bright green eyes glazed with lust and disquiet. He was tall and long limbed, so the queen sized bed didn’t stretch him too much, but it was enough for what Castiel wanted to do. He wondered what Dean would look like when he finally gained the muscle he really needed to fill out that frame. It really was a shame he would never see it. He wondered if Dean would be willing to be celibate the rest of his life if Castiel asked him to. He’d probably resort to massive dildos again, but Castiel could certainly deal with that rather than another man or woman touching his boy.

Castiel took his clothes off slowly and placed his weapons in strategic locations around the room, just in case. Then he placed the bag from the sex shop on the bed next to Dean. He sat between his legs and looked at him. Dean licked his lips and tilted his head slightly.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Castiel reached out and took Dean’s cock in his hand. The boy bit off a moan and jerked against his bonds.

“What did you do while I was gone?” Castiel asked, stroking the shaft lightly.

“Um. I, um. I ate my lunch. And I paced. And then I showered. And paced some more. Oh, yesss…” Dean smiled and shifted his hips. “Cas…tiel.”

“Yes?”

“I cleaned myself for you. In the shower.”

Castiel felt heat flare through him. “Good boy,” he growled. “You’re so good to think of me like that.”

“I want to—“ Dean cut off with a sharp cry as Castiel lowered his head between his legs and began licking at his perineum. He trailed down and used the barely there slack in Dean’s bonds to bend his leg just enough to get his face close enough to lap at his hole. He was sweet and fresh and clean, just like he’d promised. Castiel forgot his toys for a moment and lifted Dean’s hips so that he could comfortably but his lips to Dean’s hole and lick and suck and tongue his entrance. The pucker fluttered open and Castiel fucked his tongue into him. Dean was doing his best to hold still, but he was groaning and swearing loud enough to be heard through the walls.

Holding him tightly to his face, Castiel inserted his tongue into Dean and left it there, licking his inner walls and teasing the sensitive flesh until Dean’s body was shaking and trembling. He was crying already. Castiel hadn’t even gotten to the fun part yet—he was just doing this for his own amusement. He pulled out and sat up. Dean cried out and looked at him, eyes glassy like he had a fever.

“I got you something,” Castiel said.

Dean hummed excitedly and shifted his hips again, pumping them up toward Castiel.

“And I got something for me as well.”

Dean’s eyes went wide and he pulled at his bonds. He knew that when Castiel said he got something for himself, it wasn’t actually to be used on him, but on Dean. But whatever it was usually resulted in Dean being refused orgasm for hours while Castiel explored all of its uses.

“I take it whatever you did went well,” Dean said, squirming in anticipation.

“Hold still.” Dean stopped moving. “It did go well. Though it will still be a couple of months before I know if I have to take matters into my own hands.” He reached into his shopping bag and began extracting a bottle of lube from its packaging. “Which I do not like doing.”

“Waiting? Yeah, I’m aware of that.”

Castiel shot him a look and Dean rolled his lips in to hide his smile. He popped the lid on the lube and poured some onto his fingers.

“So, why are you waiting?”

“Well, you know the federal government’s policy: hurry up and wait.”

“Why are you—oh!”

Dean bit his lip and did his best not to move his hips as Castiel slid a finger into him. He twisted it around quickly to deposit some of the extra lube on his finger, and then quickly added a second finger followed just as swiftly by a third.

“Jesus,” Dean breathed and worked his hips in a circle. Castiel decided to let him; he was tied down after all.

Castiel dragged his fingertips along the smooth muscles of Dean’s hole, turning his hand and making sure he stroked every inch he could reach. He fingered his prostate and watched Dean compulsively lick his lips and his breathing get shallower and his pretty cock bounce stiffly against his abdomen, smearing precome on his belly and leaving a sticky trail from the head. Castiel ran a finger of his free hand through the trail and brought it to his lips. He licked the bitter liquid and smiled at the soft groan that spilled from Dean’s lips. He looked up at those lips. They were full and plump and prettily shaped. They were currently swollen from all the biting Dean was doing. He pulled his hand out of Dean and moved so that he hovered over his boy. He lowered himself enough to brush his lips over Dean’s. The kid went still. Castiel licked Dean’s lips and then kissed them lightly.

“Open,” he said softly.

Dean’s lips parted and Castiel sealed their mouths, kissing him gently, and then harder, and then eased off again. He flicked his tongue into Dean’s mouth, teasing at his tongue. Dean responded hesitantly, and Castiel pulled back. When Dean opened his eyes, the green was clear and bright and curious. Castiel sat back between his legs and pulled out another package from his bag. Maybe he needed to stop lying to himself that the only reason he kissed Dean was because Dean liked it. He frowned at the thought and distracted himself by tearing cardboard and pulling at plastic.

Once the short dildo was free from its sterile cage, he gave it a sniff. It smelled like processed packaging. He rooted through the bag and found his other surprise, hiding it from Dean as he stood up. He walked into the bathroom to wash both with soap and water. He heard Dean squirm on the bed. When the toys smelled mostly like new silicone he returned to the bedroom and found Dean pulling at his restraints.

“Problem?” Castiel asked.

“No,” Dean replied petulantly.

Dean was lucky he was in a good mood. He plopped back between his legs and pulled out the pack of batteries he’d also purchased. Why couldn’t these things come with batteries included? Once the batteries were installed he shoved the dildo into Dean’s hole. Dean grunted harshly, but he was stretched and lubed enough and the dildo was small enough that he was fairly certain it hadn’t hurt him, just surprised him. Though if it had hurt him it served him right for being such a brat. He flicked on the switch and watched as the dildo, instead of vibrating, began an uneven circular motion as the large ball bearings inside moved around and around.

Dean’s instinct to pull his legs up was of course stopped short by the bonds and he jerked at the stimulation caused by the dildo and the restraints. He hummed, and he sounded pleased.

“This is new,” Dean said.

“What do you think?”

“It’s…it’s nice. It’s not overly stimulating, but it still makes you…” he trailed off and worked his hips.

Castiel smiled and watched him for a few moments, enjoying the sight of Dean basking in pleasure—and tied up so he couldn’t get away. He didn’t know why he still thought Dean was going to leave him somehow. For the first several weeks after returning to Chicago, he’d expected to find Dean dead by his own hand. Once he was fairly certain the kid had no plans to off himself, he kept expecting him to just leave. He supposed he’d eventually stopped worrying about that because it was pretty apparent Dean thought Castiel would hunt him down and kill him—and he probably would have. So it had been strange to hear Dean say he had been happy in Chicago. People had told him before they would never leave him, but none of them had said they would be happy to stay with him.

“What do you have planned?”

Castiel looked up, not expecting Dean to speak. The kid was glaring at him.

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, putting a finger to the dildo and pushing on it gently.

“This feels too nice. Too gentle.”

“You think I can’t be nice and gentle?”

“No, you can. But not when you have that glint in your eyes.”

“What glint?”

“We should rent a motel room with mirrors on the ceiling. Then I could show you.”

“Mirrors…I would love to watch myself fuck you.”

“So why not video tape it?”

Castiel thought that was a good idea. He stood up and retrieved his phone. He set it up to record and placed it on the desk opposite the bed, aimed between Dean’s legs.

“I’ll have to buy a real video camera,” Castiel mused as he sat back down between Dean’s legs and bent over to lick his inner thighs.

“It was not my intention to give you any ideas. Oh, yes, fuck, Cas…tiel. I love it best when you touch me, you know that? I like the toys and I like how you play with me, but I prefer you. You know?”

Castiel kissed his thigh and bent down further to lick his ball sac.

“Mmn, Castiel. You’re gonna fuck me, right? We can play but promise me you’ll fuck me.”

Dean’s voice was desperate, borderline whiny. Castiel caressed his thighs and then sat up to look down at him.

“Are you giving me an order?”

Dean’s body tensed, but he tried to eke out a smile. “Strong request?”

Castiel put his thumb on the end of the dildo and pushed and released and pushed and released. The electronic noise dampened and grew louder with each counter movement. Dean pulled at his bonds again and grunted in frustration.

“You don’t actually like being tied up, do you?” Castiel asked.

Dean looked nervous to answer, which was answer enough. Interesting. He leaned forward and licked the hot, hard shaft of Dean’s cock. Aside from one short-lived blow job he’d given to a fellow hit man he’d lost a bet to—and subsequently bit off his dick when he decided he didn’t want to pay up—Dean’s was the only penis he’d ever put in his mouth. It wasn’t something he found particularly arousing, but for some reason he’d just grown too curious about Dean’s dick. He’d kissed and licked and sucked just about every other part of Dean’s body—he liked having his ears, nipples, hip bones, anus, and knee pits licked; he did not like having his eyelids, chin, spaces between his fingers, and bellybutton licked; he appeared indifferent to toe licking—he figured he might as well give his cock a suck or two. That night in the car had been fun. The noises Dean had made had been intoxicating. He’d already discovered he liked the way Dean tasted from the many times of sucking on his tongue after feeding Dean his own semen, so he’d decided to try to get the taste direct from the source. He loved it. He had no idea why his second protégé had complained about swallowing so much. Maybe Dean tasted special.

Castiel wrapped his lips around the shaft and bit gently at the turgid flesh. He ran his tongue along a very prominent vein and felt Dean twitch. The kid exhaled sharply again. He really didn’t want to be tied down. Castiel grinned and fondled his balls with one hand and began massaging the base of his dick with the other. He sat up just enough to begin laving at the head of his penis. Dean pulled at his bonds and tossed his head. Castiel licked repeatedly at the glans, over and over and Dean groaned and bucked his hips up as much as he could. Without stopping the movement of his hands, Castiel sat up and looked down at Dean’s face. Delicate features were now sharp with frustration and desire. The dildo buzzed in the relative silence.

“What was your first time like, baby boy?” Castiel asked.

Dean blinked his eyes several times. “Um. What?”

“The first time you had sex.” His hands and the dildo worked away at him.

“Um. I, it was fine. Jesus, Castiel, come on, you—“

Dean cut off whatever he was about say. Castiel had a feeling it wasn’t a compliment to his character.

“Tell me about it, little cowboy. Did you ride your first cowgirl good and hard? Tell me about your adolescent fumbling. In graphic detail.”

“Why? Jesus. Can’t we t-talk about—oh, you bastard. Oh that’s so fucking good.”

Castiel bent down and sucked on the tip of his cock. The _noise_ that came out of Dean made him fully hard and dripping precome onto the sheets.

“I suppose we could always talk about your father,” Castiel said, swirling his tongue over the crown.

“Her name was Adrian.”

Castiel sat up and smiled. He pumped Dean’s dick slowly and began tugging gently on his balls.

“She was a cheerleader. One year younger than me.”

“How old were you?”

“You know. Sixteen. Like you guessed. Or knew or whatever."

Castiel smiled at his annoyed expression. He reached a hand down to increase the speed of the rotation of the dildo. As expected, Dean’s expressed transformed with a beautiful wash of pleasure.

“So, you deflowered a little fifteen year old girl?”

“Hardly. I wasn’t her first. Mmn. Yeah…”

Castiel chuckled. “Isn’t it funny how the states that preach abstinence the hardest are the ones with the highest rate of teen sex and pregnancies?”

“Hilarious. God, Castiel, your hands. Shit. Her hands weren’t like yours. They were small and soft and didn’t know how to touch a man right.”

“She gave you a hand job? That’s not sex, Dean. How messed up was your sexual education?”

“She gave me a hand job to get me hard because she said she wasn’t going to put her mouth on me.”

“Her loss,” Castiel said, right before he wrapped his lips around Dean’s cock and sucked. Dean arched off the bed and pulled viciously on his bonds. He cursed and cried as Castiel went lower, took more of him, but slowly, slowly. Castiel pulled back and marveled at the phantom feeling of Dean still in his mouth.

“Then what?” Castiel asked.

“Then she fingered herself until she was wet, told me where to stick it, and then there was some awkward rocking and voila: virginity gone.”

Castiel laughed. “At least the loss of your other virginity was more enjoyable than that.”

“Oh, yes, best dicking my life followed up by getting punched unconscious.”

“First dicking, certainly not your best. Or are you saying it’s been downhill since then?”

“Fuck you, Castiel. Don’t I stroke your ego enough?”

Castiel squeezed his cock and Dean winced. Well, he supposed the kid had a point, so he eased his grip. He turned the dildo up higher though. Dean moaned like he was surrendering.

“Tell me about the first time you ate a girl out.”

“I was a senior in high school. The girl I followed to LA—she’d broken up with me to go to prom with someone from the football team. Lacrosse wasn’t good enough for prom photos. I suppose that should have been my first clue that we weren’t meant to be together.”

Castiel picked up his second toy—a thin cylinder of silicone with a small bulb on the end. He ran it up the side of Dean’s dick, but he had his eyes closed and didn’t see it.

“Anyway, in retaliation, I took her little sister to prom. And I couldn’t quite bring myself to have sex with her—she was fourteen and I was almost eighteen, so I just went down on her.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “So you molested a child to get back at her sister. And people say I’m sick.”

“You are sick.”

Castiel shrugged a shoulder. He supposed he was.

“And again that depends on your definition of ‘child.’ She wasn’t a virgin by the time I got my hands on her.”

“I bet your father would have been proud of you though—eating pussy like a real man.”

“Oh, fuck you. And please don’t make me associate my father with being sexually aroused.”

Castiel grasped Dean’s dick and angled it straight up. He teased the tip with the bulb. Dean opened his eyes, and then they went wider.

“What’s that?”

“Tell me about the first time you jacked off thinking about me.”

“I—I…” Dean swallowed and tugged at his right wrist. “I was in the bathroom just off the guard room. You had just made me jerk you off, and you’d come on me. On my underwear. When I was in the bathroom stall, I wanted to scream. I felt violated and sick and disgusting—I hated myself for what I’d done. What I’d allowed you to do to me. But I couldn’t ignore that I was hard. And when I opened my fly and saw the damp spots on my underwear—your jizz on me—I pulled it out and jacked myself slow and easy. Thinking about you watching me. And I came hard. And I felt sick afterward and hated myself even more.”

“But you came back to me the next day.” Castiel rolled the cylinder over Dean’s slit and he grunted and yanked on his bonds. The tension was building in his body. “Tell me about the first time you touched yourself that wasn’t after I made you touch me.”

“I was in my apartment—God, Castiel, that feels so weird! Fuck, it feels good.” Castiel nudged the opening with the bulb. “Fuck, fuck! I was in my apartment and I saw the underwear you had come on. And I took it out and put it over my face and jacked off with the smell of you filling my senses. Oh, oh, shit! Castiel, don’t! _Don’t!_ You can’t—“

Dean threw his head back against the mattress as Castiel circled the top of the bulb around the inside of his slit. He yanked violently at his bonds, his muscles seizing and clenching with his desperation. Castiel felt his groin throbbing in response, his body was flushed—he’d gotten off on people’s pain before. But this was Dean’s pleasure. He nudged the bulb in a little bit.

“Castiel!” Dean yelped his name and the bed rocked with his attempt to get free.

“Tell me about the first time you knew you loved me,” Castiel said, bending over.

Dean cracked his eyes open and saw Castiel’s tongue lapping at the underside of his cockhead as he pushed the bulb completely in.

Dean screamed and pulled so hard at his bonds the fabric tore in several places. Castiel sat up and pulled the toy out, alarmed that he might have actually hurt him, but Dean was coming. Huge, thick globs of come exploded out of him and he writhed on the bed like a mad man, his screams only disrupted as he raked in breaths to sustain the screaming. Castiel massaged his dick to help him through the intense pleasure-pain. When he went limp on the bed, Castiel turned off and removed the dildo. It was nearly ten minutes before Dean seemed to be lucid again. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he managed to get his eyes part way open. He looked at Castiel with awe, and Castiel was pleased to have reduced Dean to such a complete mess.

Castiel leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve the knife he’d placed in the bed frame to have a weapon handy. He moved swiftly and cut the bond on Dean’ left wrist. The kid’s arm circled weakly around his back as he moved on to the right. Dean was mumbling incoherently and Castiel moved to cut his legs free. Then he quickly slicked up his dick with some lube and lay down on the mattress. He pulled Dean’s lax body on top of him and planted his feet on the bed so he could push into Dean’s hole. He was balls deep with an almost frictionless glide and fucked Dean gently as the kid remained dazed and pliant, his head resting on Castiel’s chest.

Castiel stared up at the ceiling as he moved inside Dean. He didn’t want to find something new to fuck. He liked Dean’s body too much. But the kid couldn’t go with him to Russia; that was a given. He was certain Dean would wait months, even years for him to return. But if he was gone for years, would he still want to come back for Dean? He’d gone back for him after months of being apart after escaping prison.

That had been a hellish period of his life. Castiel was intelligent and he knew it. He understood how people worked if not always why, and he also understood how to balance partial differential equations. If he didn’t know something, he made a point to learn about it. Five months of not understanding why he couldn’t stop thinking about some gullible, emotionally damaged prison guard back in LA had driven him batty. His kills had been violent and messy. He’d fucked anything that breathed in his direction, including Sokolov’s wife, but he’d been doing that before he went to prison too.

He’d come to the conclusion that he was hung up on Dean because he hadn’t killed him. Castiel didn’t have a one hundred percent kill policy; waste not, want not was one of his favorite expressions that his brother used to say. But maybe it stuck with him because even though he’d been knocked unconscious, Dean might somehow be able to explain how he got away or give some clue to how he thought and operated. He’d spent a lot of time reading news articles out of LA after his escape. A few mentioned a prison guard had been injured during the escape, but none said anything about a disgraced guard being in on it. Apparently Dean had found some way to talk himself out of that one. That’s how he knew the kid was cleverer than he’d initially given him credit for. Maybe that’s what bothered him. There was someone out there, someone smart, who knew more about him than he should. Not that he knew much.

It was simple really: Dean had to die. An assignment to San Diego presented him with the opportunity to tie up loose ends. After he’d taken care of some of Golubev’s distant relations who probably weren’t a threat to anyone or anything, but Golubev had been a paranoid moron, he took the train up to LA. He’d gotten off on the thought of surprising Dean, slitting his throat, and fucking his dying body. That was a fitting end. One last fuck, blood, and the end of a troublesome gnat in his brain. Of course when he’d finally seen Dean again, it seemed like it might be more fun to get one last fuck with him while he was still alive first. Then the throat slitting and resolving of unfinished business. But fuck—Dean had been glorious. Beautiful, desperate, aching for him for months, fucking himself on giant dildos just to remember the feel of him. It was flattering. Dean was strange and perfect and wanted to please him. Killing him would be a waste.

Castiel cursed softly and wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulders as he rutted in him a little harder. Dean moaned softly.

That’s what he’d told himself at the time: killing him would be a waste. The truth was he hadn’t _wanted_ to kill him. Not then. Not now. He wondered what Dean would do if he knew that he didn’t live under the constant threat of murder? He’d never tell him. Little brat was cheeky enough as it was. Fuck. Maybe he should make different arrangements with Stenberg and Johnson. He’d been happy at the thought of going to Russia. He hadn’t been in a while and he definitely needed a change of pace. Being a mafia hit man just wasn’t as fun as it used to be. But now…Dean would stand out like a sore thumb. He would draw attention to both of them. Although…perhaps no one would suspect the native Russian bringing home his hot American boyfriend as being a murderous spy. But then, all those stupid new laws would make it very difficult to use that cover story without getting arrested. No, Dean had to stay in America.

Castiel hissed his aggravation and rolled over on top of Dean. The kid was more cognizant of what was going on now, but he allowed his head to loll languidly on the mattress as his body rocked with Castiel’s increasing movements. Castiel planted his hands on the mattress and locked his arms as he thrust his hips forward, doing his best to get as deep as he possibly could.

“Ah, aah, un, mmn…fuck…Cas…Castiel…I love you, I love you…”

Castiel stilled, buried to the hilt, and groaned with displeasure as he came inside of Dean. How was he supposed to enjoy this knowing every time he did would bring him closer to the last time?

Fuck. When did he not get his way? Only when he screwed himself over. He collapsed on top of Dean with a frown that was bordering on a smirk. He had certainly screwed himself over on more than one occasion. The secret was never letting anybody know that.

“Castiel…?” Dean mumbled.

“What is it, baby?”

“Was it good?” he slurred lethargically.

“It was perfect, sweet boy. Go to sleep.”

As if waiting for the command, or permission, Dean’s eyes closed completely and his breathing evened out. Out like a light was the expression Castiel thought. He eased to the side so he wasn’t smothering his boy, slipping out of him regretfully. Castiel stared at the wall. If he was going to leave Dean with his family for a few years, he was going to have to make sure his family deserved to have him back. He and Dean were going to have to go on a little road trip.

***

Castiel awoke to the sound of a wristwatch alarm beeping in his ear. He wasn’t confused by the sound per se—he knew what it was and where it came from, but he wasn’t quite sure why it was going off. Or why it was directly in his ear.

He sat up with a frown, rubbing his ear with a finger. He was on the stripped down mattress in the Quality Inn—buck naked. Never a smart idea to sleep naked in an unfamiliar location, but fighting, killing, and running in the nude were things he had done before and could easily do again. He looked down and saw Dean snuffling around the mattress, his brow furrowed in displeasure as he sought out the missing heat of Castiel’s body. Apparently the kid had flung an arm over him and his wrist had wound up right by Castiel’s ear. He reached down and turned the alarm on the watch off. How on earth was Dean still asleep? He didn’t understand people who were heavy sleepers. Though that did make him wonder exactly how long he could fuck Dean before he finally woke up. Somnophilia wasn’t really something he got off on, but it would be funny to see Dean’s reaction.

Castiel stretched his arms, shoulders, and back slowly and methodically, checking for any changes to his body. He still felt normal, no sore muscles or tightness in his limbs. He wondered what would happen on the day when he started noticing a difference that didn’t come with explanation like a fight or a work out. It would mean his age was finally catching up to him. He’d probably have to kill himself. He glanced down at Dean. Unless the kid wanted to play nursemaid to him. But how awful would life be if he had to take up retirement as a Wal-Mart greeter? Hopefully he would get killed on the job one day. One day far in the future of course; he didn’t have a death wish.

He’d met hit men who lived and worked like each moment might be their last breath. It made them dangerous and good at their jobs, but it also made them weak. When they were suddenly faced with their mortality, they were paralyzed for that one split second when they had to decide if they really wanted to live or not. More often than not, they wanted to live. Of course by the time that thought processed they were already dying or dead as Castiel had not hesitated and taken them out. Many others in his profession viewed his strong desire to stay alive as a lack of discipline or commitment to the lifestyle. They all assumed he would sooner abandon a job than risk his own life. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t risk his life, he would and he had, but he had decided a long time ago that by training himself and honing his skills he would minimize the risk that the others found a thrill in. One hit man might complete a job because they were crazy enough to do anything to get it done. Castiel completed his jobs because he was _that good_. That was why he’d only met one or two other hit men who were in normal color like himself. Most of them were morons.

Castiel wiggled his toes and then turned to look at Dean again as the kid began curling himself around his waist. That reminded him of the watch alarm. Why had it gone off? It must have been the alarm he’d set before he left to go to his meeting—the twenty-five hour limit he’d set on leaving Dean alone and stationary without his protection. He rubbed his eyes. He’d come back after about seven hours, fooled around with Dean for over an hour—had he been asleep for _sixteen_ hours? He supposed he must have felt safe. After all, Sokolov wouldn’t have sent someone looking for him yet. He might still be thinking that he was off disposing of Dean’s body somewhere after having learned about Alexei’s death and his and Dean’s disappearance. Also, Sokolov wouldn’t have anyone to send after him. Not for awhile anyway. He’d have to wait until he had a new employee, someone who had never met Castiel and would take the stories told about him as a challenge. He knew the police wouldn’t be looking for him—they’d be looking for the “owner” of the condo. They would also be dismayed to find that some of the security cameras in the building didn’t work the way they were supposed to. He had no fear of Brenna or Stenberg—they both thought he was useful and too dangerous to cross. It had been a long time since he’d felt this kind of security. He didn’t like it.

Castiel nudged Dean. “Wake up.”

Dean grumbled in his sleep and flopped over onto his other side. Castiel smacked his ass and he woke with a yelp.

“What?!”

He turned around, glaring at Castiel. He also didn’t like when Dean looked too comfortable around him. That meant he’d been too nice to him and he was getting complacent. Dean should never feel safe around him—that might get him killed.

“We need to leave,” Castiel said. “Go shower and get dressed.”

Dean sighed but moved immediately, ever obedient, but paused to throw his legs over the bed and stretch. Castiel watched the muscles ripple in his back. He reached out a hand and ran his fingertips over his soft, unblemished skin. Dean shivered and waited until Castiel removed his hand before standing up and walking toward the bathroom. He winced and stopped moving, and then stretched out his leg before walking slower and limping slightly. Castiel wasn’t concerned; considering how hard he’d been pulling at his bonds yesterday it was no surprise he was sore.

“You want to join me?” Dean asked as he rounded the corner.

“No more shower sex until we have one with a bench or something. It’s too dangerous.”

Dean laughed uproariously and Castiel had no idea why. Slippery surfaces were a hit man’s worst nightmare. No matter how coolheaded and dexterous and skilled a person was, everyone looked like an idiot when they slipped and pulled one of those stupid faces. He remembered watching his brother slip on ice once. It had been the first time he’d realized the guy was human.

The water started in the shower and Castiel stood up. He dressed quickly and triple checked the contents of his black duffle. He washed the toys he’d used on Dean in the sink and tried not to get distracted by the shadow on the other side of the shower curtain. Once those were packed away he picked up his cell phone and muttered a curse as he realized the battery was almost dead. He’d never turned the camera off. He plugged the device into the wall and pulled up the most recent video. He frowned as he started watching.

This was why he’d never recorded his other sessions with Dean or anyone else he’d ever fucked. Everything was in color. Cameras didn’t have as discerning an eye as he did. It all looked the same—just like when everything was in black and white. It all just blended together. And Dean’s voice didn’t sound right coming from the tiny speakers. It just wasn’t the same. He used his finger to scroll through the video to Dean’s orgasm. Even with all the colors in the way, it was pretty arousing watching Dean yank at his bonds and twist and contort his body in a vain effort to escape the overly stimulating pleasure Castiel was inflicting on him. He scrolled a little further ahead and watched himself fuck Dean’s lax body. The kid looked totally at ease and oblivious to everything but Castiel. Ordinarily Castiel would like that, but again here was evidence that Dean felt secure with him. Was that really what bothered him though? Of course he should feel secure with Castiel—Castiel was without a doubt the most dangerous man in the room no matter whom else might be in the room. Why would he be concerned that someone would be able to hurt him? So, perhaps he didn’t like that Dean felt _safe_ with him. He didn’t fear Castiel anymore. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true, but something had changed. He scrolled further in the video and here was the reason why: they were both asleep, curled around each other like lovers. Equals. He should go strangle Dean in the shower and just leave his body here. He didn’t have the time or the temperament to deal with a situation like this.

“Oh, God, are you looking at that video? You’re such a pervert.”

Castiel looked up and saw Dean toweling off his hair. He raised a hand to his collar and fingered the slit in the fabric that gave him access to his garotte. Dean dropped the towel and dug out a clean pair of underwear from his backpack. He slid them on and then looked up at Castiel with a smile. Whatever he saw in Castiel’s expression made him stop smiling. He went pale and took a step back while putting one hand partially up, almost if readying to fend off an attack.

“What happened?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

Castiel dropped his hand. He was pleased to find that Dean wasn’t taking anything for granted.

“Nothing. Get dressed.”

Castiel turned his back and let his finger hover over the delete button on the phone’s screen. He looked at the two of them sleeping—Dean sprawled inelegantly on top of him—his own hand laid gently on Dean’s hip. Castiel felt something he hadn’t felt in a very, _very_ long time. He felt uncertainty. Was he even capable of killing Dean at this point? Could he go through with it if he decided it had to be done? He wasn’t sure. He turned around and found Dean back in the T-shirt and jeans he’d worn the day before.

“Get on the bed.”

Dean looked up from zipping his backpack closed. He looked surprised by the command, but only hesitated a moment before he laid himself out on the mattress. Castiel walked over and quickly straddled him. He put his hands to Dean’s throat and started choking him. One of Dean’s hands flew to his throat and his fingers curled around one of Castiel’s hands, but he did nothing more to fight him. After several moments, Castiel realized Dean wasn’t kicking his legs or twisting his body in an attempt to escape. Because he could still breathe. He’d put pressure on his windpipe—a lot, but not enough to completely cut off his air. Nor was he cutting off any of the arteries to his brain which would make him pass out. He let go and sat up. Dean coughed and rubbed his throat. He looked curiously up at Castiel, but didn’t ask any questions. Castiel pulled out a knife, saw Dean’s eyes widen, and then immediately set it aside. Stabbing Dean would never work. He pulled out his gun and put it to Dean’s forehead, decided against marring his features and put it to his heart instead. He let out an annoyed huff and put the gun to his shoulder—it would be a clean shot and not damage anything important. He probably wouldn’t even bleed that much.

Castiel jumped off the bed and holstered his gun. He put the knife back in its holder on his left forearm. He walked back over to his phone and looked at the paused video. He deleted it. He didn’t need the keepsake. Clearly Dean wasn’t going anywhere. Would his brother be disappointed in his lack of resolve? Or would he be happy thinking that like his own wife Castiel had found something to invest his interest in. Was it such a bad thing to have a weakness now?

Castiel yanked the cell phone plug out the wall. Yes, of course it was. He was so annoyed he didn’t even ask Dean to follow him or give him permission to get off the bed. He just left the motel room and carefully (anger and annoyance were no reason for carelessness) put his duffle in the trunk. He left it open and walked around to the driver’s side. It took Dean a couple of minutes before he ran out after him and tossed his backpack in the trunk, shutting it with a solid slam before joining Castiel in the car. As he put on his seatbelt, he looked at Castiel with an odd expression. Castiel was sure he was wondering what the hell had just happened, and possibly that amazed look was because Castiel hadn’t just driven off and left him. Well, if he wasn’t going to kill him he certainly wasn’t going to leave him behind.

Castiel paused after starting the car. But he was going to have to leave Dean behind. For however long he was in Russia. Castiel used his index and middle fingers to massage his right temple. His head hurt and he didn’t know why.

“You okay?” Dean asked, voice soft with concern.

“Not anymore,” he answered.

Dean grasped his wrist and gently pulled his hand away from his temple. He turned his face and began massaging both his temples with his fingers. It made his headache begin to ease.

“What can I do?” Dean asked.

“Tell me how to get to Dallas.”

Dean’s hands paused, and then he sat back on his side of the car. “Um. Why are you going to Dallas?”

“That’s where I’m taking you.”

Dean slumped back in his seat, something making his features scrunch up, and then he turned and looked out the window.

“Drive southwest,” he said flatly.

Castiel felt like punching him. Instead he put the car in gear and left the parking lot.

“It’s a long drive, I guess,” Castiel mused, mostly to himself. “I don’t even think there’s a direct route there, so we’ll have to weave a bit. Stop often. Could take weeks.”

“Weeks,” Dean muttered. “Should I restart the countdown on the watch?”

“Dean, I’m not sure what you’re thinking about in that ridiculous head of yours, but I’m taking you to your family.”

“No, I got it, Castiel. I understand.”

“Do you? Well, if you have any advice for me when I meet your father—“

As expected, Dean flipped the fuck out. He sat up and flailed his arms, his voice squeaked when he managed to get a word or two out around choking on his own spit. Castiel smiled and kept his eyes focused on the road. Dean caught his expression and settled down.

“You fucker. That is not funny.”

“It is from where I’m sitting.”

“You’re not seriously going to like, try to meet my family, are you? Have you gotten so bored that you need a new way to torment me?”

“Torment you? When do I torment you? I treat you quite well.”

“Yeah, being told to lie still while you contemplate ways to kill me is a delight. Why did you do that anyway? What have I done? If you’re going to kill me, you should just do it!”

Dean’s tone sounded strange. He glanced at him.

“Why do you think I’m planning to kill you?”

“Uh, were you present in the motel room just a minute ago? Because I was! And now you’re taking me to my family so they can what, have some closure and bury me?”

Castiel sighed. He was so much less annoying when he was sucking his cock.

“Dean, I just quit my last job.” Dean snorted. “I’m newly employed but in a grace period until I can begin working again.”

"The federal government _hired_ you?!”

“I’m taking a little vacation before I have to start working again.”

“So let’s go to Hawaii or something. Jesus.”

“No, we’re going to Texas.”

Dean twitched next to him. “But, uh, I get to pick the route?”

Castiel shrugged a shoulder. “Sure.”

Dean pulled out his phone and began doing something with the map app.

“This route will not be taking us through Nova Scotia though, Dean. Make it within reason or I will not be happy.”

“I get it,” Dean said, not responding with the usual fear and unease in his voice when Castiel used that tone.

Castiel glanced at him. He was still busy with his phone. That little…he reached for the push knife in his suit coat, fully intending to stab Dean in the thigh, but then he turned to him.

“Can I pick the motels too? I wanna try to find one with a mirrored ceiling.” Dean gave him a wink and turned back to his phone.

Castiel faced the road. Well, fuck. If his sweet boy was going to do his best to make the pit stops fun, he couldn’t mess up his leg now. Dean was going to need to be in good health to survive the plans Castiel had for him.

“How are we on gas?”

“Fine.”

“But we can stop more than just when we need gas, right?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, and not undermining your control issues or anything, but if you need to we can take turns driving.”

Castiel looked at him in consternation; he did not have control issues. He was always in control. There was a difference. He slammed on the brakes and Dean jolted forward and was yanked back into his seat by his seat belt. His phone fell to the floor. He looked up and around. Upon not seeing anything in the road he turned to look at Castiel.

“What’s wrong?”

Castiel stared at him. He was in normal color. No brightness, no swirls. Dean had never been an object, and now he was no longer just a person. He was an equal. Which was ludicrous. He was in no way his equal. He couldn't hold his own in a fight against him. He couldn't be useful to him on a job. He couldn't strategize and plan for every contingency. Well, probably not the last one, but definitely not the first two.

When had this happened? When did the colors change again? He didn’t remember. Had he changed before he left for his meeting? Was it when he’d come back? Had it been the sex? The decision not to kill him? The realization he didn’t want to kill him? The horrifying thought that he might not be _capable_ of killing him?

“Castiel, seriously, what’s wrong? You look ill.”

Castiel shook his head. Dean’s colors didn’t change.

“Say something,” Castiel said. “Tell me what you think you are to me.”

Dean looked confused and he looked around as he scrambled for words.

“I’m—a source of entertainment? Your good, obedient boy?”

Dean looked him in the eyes and Castiel frowned at that answer. It wasn’t wrong, but it also wasn’t the whole of it. Dean’s colors didn’t bleed though.

“Is that all?”

Dean let out a soft, harsh laugh. “You have to be the one to answer that.”

A car honked behind them. Castiel considered getting out and shooting the obnoxious twat in the face.

“Take 66 west,” Dean said as he bent over to retrieve his phone from the floor. “Over there. It’ll take us to the highway and I’ll look for some place to stop.”

Castiel looked at him.

“If that’s okay with you,” Dean quickly amended.

Castiel drove to the road Dean indicated and strummed his hands on the steering wheel. He needed to shoot something. Preferably stab someone and feel the blood run out over his hands. He knew there were some relatives of Sokolov in southern Illinois somewhere.

“Find us a route that passes through Bellville, Illinois.”

“Okay.” Dean messed with his phone. “Oh.” He sounded disappointed.

“What?”

“Nothing. We’ll just have to bypass the Luray Caverns.”

“Who the fuck cares about that?”

“Well, they’re supposed to be pretty. A natural wonder or something. Plus nearby is the Moonlit Inn which has a mirrored ceiling. And a Jacuzzi tub.”

Castiel considered which would make him feel better: killing some unimportant objects or fucking Dean.

Castiel sighed. “How do we get to these caverns?”

***

The twenty hour trip from northern Virginia to the suburbs of Dallas, which should have taken them maybe two days at most, wound up lasting almost three weeks. Castiel allowed the winding path across the south because he did have time to kill and after their first stop in Luray, he figured it would be an entertaining experience for himself.

They’d arrived too late in Luray to visit the caverns that night, so they had checked into the Moonlit Inn—the one with the mirrored ceiling and Jacuzzi tub—and Castiel had realized that a Dean desperate not to go home was a man who was willing to do just about anything to keep Castiel happy. He hadn’t even touched Dean that first night—just made him jack off three times while he had laid comfortably on the bed and watched him in the mirror. He’d also made him hold his groin over one of the Jacuzzi’s jets and wouldn’t let him get out until the jettisoned water was enough to get him off.

The next day they had visited the caverns. Castiel liked nature. It was just about the only thing that was more powerful than he was. The only thing he couldn’t predict and certainly never control. He liked seeing proof of the ancientness of the world; it further affirmed his notion that a single human life was meaningless, worthless in the greater timeline of the universe. What did it matter if he killed a few (hundred) people in his lifetime? In a thousand years, probably less, no one would care about those people or him.

That night they had returned to the Moonlit Inn rather than continuing on because he wanted to watch himself fuck Dean in the large mirror hanging on the wall. That was much more interesting than the ceiling mirror. Well, maybe Dean enjoyed those as he’d been on his back most of the night.

The next day Dean hadn't taken them south, but at least they went west, so Castiel allowed it. They wound up in Ansted, West Virginia to visit the Mystery Hole. It had been an atrocious tourist trap built underneath an old bus or something and Castiel had been displeased by the hokey gimmicks used to make the place appear affected by paranormal influences. That night he had made Dean deal with another “mystery hole” as he had bought him a fleshlight. It had been more amusing than arousing watching the kid try to figure the thing out.

Afterward he’d tied him up, inserted a vibrator into his ass, and left him there so he could experience some of the torment Castiel had gone through that day. He’d gone outside and practiced throwing knives in the woods behind the motel. After a couple hours he’d come in and found Dean shaking on the bed. His cock was an angry red, nearly purple at the head—he’d been unable to turn over and put any friction on it and the vibrator hadn’t been enough stimulation to push him over the edge. His eyes were red from crying and his wrists and ankles were raw from where he’d twisted to try to get free.

Castiel had cut him loose and stopped the vibrator. The first touch of his hand on Dean’s dick made him erupt like a geyser—screaming and gushing come all over Castiel’s hand and clothes. He’d sighed and disrobed. They were going to need to stop at a mall and get some new clothes anyway. Dean had called to him weakly and he’d returned to the bed, a little impressed the kid had enough strength to pull himself into Castiel’s lap. He’d unceremoniously lined up Castiel’s cock with his hole and seated himself fully in one easy push of his hips. Then he’d rocked gently in Castiel’s lap, head resting tiredly on his shoulder. It wasn’t long before Castiel was pretty certain the kid was asleep, so, he’d allowed his erection to fade and then pulled out. He let Dean sleep.

Of course the next morning he’d woken him up with a slap in the face. He’d startled awake and yet still managed to take Castiel’s cock down his throat without choking. After a satisfying orgasm for Castiel, they got breakfast and drove the four and one quarter hours to Fort Mitchell, Kentucky.

Dean had taken them to the Vent Haven Museum—a museum about ventriloquism. It had taken less than an hour for both of them to be creeped out, though Castiel had enough self-control to not let on that he was unnerved. They’d had sex in the car in the museum parking lot, and then drove to Louisville. They’d gotten dinner at the Colonel Sanders Museum—Castiel wasn’t a big fan of fried foods, but Dean promised to make him some Jell-O since they would be staying at a motel with a mini fridge. They’d also driven by the World’s Largest Baseball Bat, which Dean insisted they stop at so he could get a picture. By keeping his mind focused on Jell-O and only letting Dean take two pictures, he’d stopped himself from braining the kid with one of the souvenir bats for sell. He’d nearly forgotten all about the giant bat a few hours later as he slurped lime Jell-O cubes off Dean’s body. He wondered if there was a Jell-O museum somewhere in the world.

The next day was a short drive to Cave City, Kentucky. Apparently there was nothing there but the Wigwam Village Motel, which was essentially teepees turned into a campy motel. Dean had intended for them to only stay there overnight the previous night, but Castiel had taken his Jell-O activities too long into the night. But it didn’t matter to Castiel if it was day or night, he could fuck Dean just about any hour of the day, repeatedly, unendingly, and he still wasn’t bored with him. He wasn’t into role play though—he didn’t like the idea of playing parts. He didn’t understand acting as a general rule of thumb and was generally perplexed by the objects’ obsession with TV and movies. Dean had seemed relieved that Castiel didn’t want him to dress up as an Indian, but Castiel had been in a subdued mood that day anyway. He’d taken Dean in the missionary position and the kid had clung to his shoulders and moaned his name and how much he loved him the entire time. A couple of his protégés had told him they loved him; Dean was the first person he really believed. Not that it mattered where the devotion came from so long as it was there.

They had left the next day well rested and refreshed—five days into their road trip—and Castiel had begun to feel restless. They didn’t drive far enough to settle his impatience, only to Nashville, and after lunch Castiel let Dean go alone to the Country Music Hall of Fame. He had stalked the seedier parts of the city, gathering information about the area and the disappointing gang-related crime. Apparently the Nashville police weren’t the most understanding police force on the planet either. None of it was useful and he couldn’t even find a connection to make the investigation worthwhile. Barely anyone showed any sort of flash or swirl of color.

He had followed a John down an alley after he’d seen him double check a cord in his pocket as he’d pushed a prostitute ahead of him. Castiel had watched as the man had strangled the woman mid-coitus, but he hadn’t stopped and continued to rut in her after she was dead. Castiel understood the appeal of a dying body, but a dead one? That was just gross. He’d cut the man up: slowly, tortuously, and his clothes had been ruined with the warm, thick, metallic-smelling blood. It had been a pleasure to end that object’s existence.

He returned to the motel late, but Dean was waiting for him. His eyes had gone wide when he’d seen the blood, but once he’d established none of it was Castiel’s, he calmed down a little bit. Of course it wasn’t his; Castiel couldn’t even remember the last time he’d broken his skin.

He’d crowded Dean against the wall, rubbed his erection against his leg. He had run his hands through Dean’s hair, the clotting blood sticking in the strands. Dean had asked him if he felt better now. So he had noticed Castiel was off. Castiel confirmed he was and had kissed him, put him on the sink counter and pushed between his legs. He’d been angry when Dean hadn’t been responsive. He’d let him know under no uncertain circumstances that he was fucking Dean whether he was a willing participant or not. Dean had nodded and reached out a hand to start the shower. He’d let Castiel do as he pleased until the water was warm, and then he’d gotten him inside, clothes and all. Slowly the clothes came off. And then all of the blood. When Castiel was clean, Dean kissed him and then turned around, bending over at the waist, arms propped up on the wall. Castiel had taken him hard, but without the frenzy of the kill still buzzing through him.

Later as Dean slept naked, curled up next to him on the bed, Castiel waited for the dissatisfaction to overtake him. His high from the kill and the blood had been ruined by Dean making him get clean before he let him have him. It should have been an unsatisfactory night. He'd been confused to find that he was content. He’d had his kill and he’d had his boy. Maybe Dean was right—his two worlds didn’t need to overlap. Another reason why Dean had to stay in Texas while he was in Russia.

The next day had been another short drive, two hours, to Chattanooga, Tennessee. Castiel had let Dean drive out of the sheer amusement it brought him to see Dean so tense and nervous and constantly looking at Castiel to see if he was going to get in trouble for doing something Castiel had given him permission to do. By the time they’d reached the International Towing and Recovery Museum Dean’s nerves had been shot, so they had checked into the motel early and Castiel had fucked Dean determinedly from behind until he was a pliant, lax puddle of calmed human being on the mattress. That evening Castiel had taken Dean to a secluded field and taught him some basic offense and defense when fighting in close quarters with knives. It had devolved into sex on the dusty ground, but most things with them tended to end with sex.

The following day they had visited the museum—all about towing—and Castiel was convinced Dean was taking him not where he wanted to go, but to any place that was where he didn’t want to go, ie: home. He wasn’t bored yet, so he allowed it. That same day they had taken a short hour ride to Scottsboro, Alabama to shop at the Unclaimed Baggage Center. Castiel wasn’t impressed with many manmade things that weren’t instruments of death—or Jell-O—but he’d been amused by the warehouse-sized store consisting of nothing but the crap found in lost luggage. They had yet to make that stop at a mall for new clothes, so it was actually fortuitous that they could buy clothes in good condition for dirt cheap. At least Dean had thought so; Castiel wondered if Dean hadn’t figured out yet that “being on the run” didn’t mean that Castiel’s access to his bank accounts hadn’t been disrupted.

Castiel had sent Dean on an errand to find them both some clothes and then taken himself into the electronics department. The store owners claimed that they erased all personal data from the devices before selling them, but Castiel knew how to get around that. He found a couple of laptops and a tablet that he could tell had belonged to businessmen and bought them, hoping to find something blackmail worthy on them for later use. When he’d found Dean, the kid was in the fitting rooms, trying on some clothes. He’d pointed to a pile on the stool and told Castiel those were for him to try on. Castiel was perplexed. He had a size and when he bought clothes he bought that size and they fit. There was no need to try on clothes. Dean hadn’t pressed the issue, but hadn’t quite turned around enough to hide the fact that he rolled his eyes. Castiel didn’t appreciate the little brat thinking he was being ridiculous when he was only being practical.

He’d sat on the bench and watched Dean try on clothes. He’d vetoed a couple of button down shirts because he liked Dean in easy to remove T-shirts. He’d also vetoed a shirt with a Batman logo. Batman didn’t like guns, so really, fuck him. He’d thumbs-upped a pair of designer jeans that hugged Dean’s ass like a second skin. He’d made Dean sit in his lap while wearing them and rub against him until he was relaxed and ready to orgasm—then Dean had suggested he could finish him off with a blowjob. Castiel hadn’t minded, and he hadn’t fought with the kid as he’d actually struggled to get his jeans all the way to his ankles—completely unnecessary—while he’d blown him. When he had finished, Dean had licked his lips and said that as long as his pants were off he might as well try on the pants Dean had picked out for him. If he’d had his silencer with him he would have shot Dean right there and then. But he’d left it in the car. So he’d tried on a couple of pairs of pants. They’d left the store doing about three hundred dollars worth of damage, which was actually a shitload of clothing and several books Dean had picked out for himself.

That night he’d rimmed Dean until he came just from getting eaten out. He’d also allowed Dean to touch him there again. The kid did admirably with his self-control, but eventually his fingers did begin prodding where they shouldn’t. He’d given a warning by touching the top of his head. He’d stopped and used his tongue instead, jacking him with his hand until Castiel felt that awesome wash of pleasure that felt so similar to the high he got when he killed.

Hypersexualized—a court appointed therapist had used that word to describe him when he’d been fourteen and arrested for aggravated assault and rape. He’d been acquitted as there had been no witnesses and Kuznetsov’s granddaughter had testified that it had been someone else. No one believed her, but they had to let him go. The night he was released from jail, he’d taken her to the basement of the abandoned building where he’d stashed the man who had actually attacked and raped her. He’d watched with delight as she’d used a knife to cut open his belly and then literally ripped out his insides with her bare hands. She’d been twelve at the time and she burst into full color that night that had never dimmed. She’d asked to go live with her mother—who was divorced from her father and not in the family—and been granted that wish. Castiel hadn’t seen her again until almost twelve years later when Brenna had attempted to seduce him in a bar prior to a hit. He’d been surprised by her hatred for her former family, and she’d been thrilled to find out just how painful her grandfather’s death had been. Kuznetsov had never made him have sex with Brenna—though she’d gone by a different name back then—but he supposed that didn’t mean he hadn’t made someone else do it. It was a shame his brilliance had been controlled by his perversion. Castiel had no delusions about himself—he was also brilliant and perverted—but he didn’t allow the latter to interfere with business.

That night was the first time he’d ever wondered why he didn’t allow anyone to fuck him. He supposed it had to do with control. And the anger he still felt at being so utterly let down by Kuznetsov upon realizing all the man wanted was to turn him into just another hole to use for his amusement. He’d watched Dean sleep that night—looking for signs that his colors were muddying or breaking free from the confines of the lines of his near perfect form. Days he’d been like this. It bothered Castiel because he couldn’t figure out why. He couldn’t figure out what purpose he served other than to pleasure him—and that wasn’t necessarily a useful function as a scratchy towel, his hand, and countless objects had managed the same thing before. So, if Dean was useful for more than just pleasure and an occasional source of amusement…what was it?

He still hadn’t figured it out by the time they hit Anniston, Alabama for the apparent sole purpose of seeing the World’s Largest Office Chair. Castiel had tied Dean to a chair that night and had let him know exactly how unhappy he was with a stop at a truly asinine tourist attraction. Castiel wasn’t entirely sure Dean had taken the night as punishment.

From there it had been a three hour drive to Tupelo, Mississippi and the birth place of somebody who used to be famous but wasn’t anymore. Castiel didn’t care because it was uninteresting to him. He liked music that spoke and the selection Dean had played for him—after getting over being flabbergasted that Castiel seemed unfamiliar with the singer—had been peppy noise. He disliked peppy noise even more than sappy noise. And if Dean tuned the radio to a country music station one more time he was going to open the car door while they were at highway speeds and kick him out onto the road.

In retaliation for the assault on his ears he’d had plans to fuck Dean so hard that night he literally wouldn’t be able to walk the next day, but for dinner the kid had introduced him to the fried pickle chip. So, he’d gotten an order to go and ate them slowly while he watched Dean get himself off with a glass dildo. When they’d both finished, he’d been able to pull Dean close and slide right into him. It had felt good to rock slowly in his boy, not pulling out once, until he’d spilled inside of him. Dean had broken down into his “I love you,” mantra again. Castiel had quieted him with a kiss and woke up the next morning with his morning wood already halfway inside him and ranch dressing smeared on one ass cheek. Castiel had lived what many might consider a strange life—but that had been one of his odder moments personally.

That morning had been a five hour drive to Natchez, Mississippi. They’d stood at the edge of the Mississippi River and Castiel might have explained his fascination with nature to Dean. The kid hadn’t said anything, just smiled softly. It had been one of those moments when he had wanted to know what was going on in Dean’s head, but he hadn’t asked. They’d had lunch at Mammy’s Cupboard, a restaurant that even Castiel—who really had no working concept of race—found extremely racist. There was nothing going in Natchez so they drove almost three hours to New Orleans. They’d stayed for a week.

Castiel had never been to New Orleans before. Few cities made impressions on him, but he liked New Orleans. He liked staying at that hotel with the balcony that overlooked Bourbon Street with the French doors that opened wide enough to push the divan partially outside. He'd had Dean is just about every position; morning, noon, evening, midnight; with the sound of the bustling nightlife, the quiet murmurs of early morning, and the pounding of an unseasonably heavy rain. He'd been confounded after one session that had been especially pleasurable when Dean had let out a winded sounding laugh and murmured something about cheesy movies and making love in the rain. They hadn't been in the rain; they'd been under an awning.

During the week they had gone to a voodoo museum, some old cemeteries—which Dean had preempted him by declaring he would _not_ be having sex with him in one at night—and enough restaurants and bars to write their own visitor's guide to the city. It was the first time Castiel had ever seen Dean drunk. He'd been fun right up until he'd confessed that he hated loving Castiel because he knew he was a killer. Not just one who got to paid to do it—that at least could make some sense to him—but a man who _enjoyed_ taking another's life. Castiel hadn't refuted him; he hadn't been wrong. Dean had cried and asked Castiel to tell him what was wrong with him—why did he love someone who was incapable of love? Castiel hadn't answered him; he certainly didn't know the answer. Dean had stared at him until the tear tracks had dried on his cheeks. Then he'd lain back on the bed, limp with dull eyes. He'd told Castiel to just go ahead and fuck him since that's what he waiting for after all. Castiel had waited for his colors to start to bleed. When nothing happened, he'd left the room in frustration.

He wandered the streets of old New Orleans, trying to figure out why, _how_, Dean was his equal. He'd come across a mugging. After receiving the couple's valuables, Castiel could tell the man was going to shoot them anyway. He'd grabbed him around the throat just before he finished applying pressure to the trigger. The couple had fled. Castiel had choked the man into unconsciousness, and then used a knife to bleed him slowly. He'd awoken in just enough time to feel the effects of his blood loss before he had succumbed. Castiel had stayed out of the pool of warm blood. He hadn't gotten a drop on him. He wasn't aroused.

He'd returned to the hotel the next morning to find Dean nursing a terrible hangover. He'd asked what had happened and if he'd done anything stupid. He'd blacked out the night before. Castiel hadn't filled him in on the details. The only one who cared that Dean felt bad about being with a murderer was Dean—and that wasn't a conversation he wanted to have with a sober Dean. So, he let the kid think he was keeping his secrets. He'd made his boy ride him that morning though—slowly, very slowly. Dean's body had been covered in sweat, his hair soaked, his jaw slack, eyes glazed with lust before either of them had come. It had been a good way to spend their last morning in New Orleans.

Dean had directed them an hour west to Thibodaux, Louisiana. He wanted to go on a swamp tour, but Castiel certainly wasn't going trap himself on an airboat in the middle of a swamp, so he'd sent him off on his own. Castiel had used the time to touch base with Stenberg. The information Castiel had provided them was proving to be very useful to the FBI. They predicted that they would begin making their arrests within a couple of weeks. That was sooner than Castiel had anticipated, but that probably wouldn't alter his timeline for leaving for Russia.

Out of curiosity he'd contacted Sokolov. His former boss—though the man hadn't actually figured that part out yet—had told him that the syndicate had accepted his overthrow and grasp for power with little resistance. Castiel knew that meant Sokolov would be killed by his own people if the Feds didn't get to him first. Sokolov had also wanted to make sure Castiel was hunting down his "boy toy" for killing Alexei. It was almost embarrassing that he'd come so close to actually working for a man who was so deluded by his own megalomania. It seemed like Alexei's crazed attack on Dean was the best thing that could have happened to him. He didn't like it when he couldn't predict outcomes, but he supposed he could live with this one.

That night he's made Dean blow him while wearing his souvenir alligator hat. He'd laughed the whole time watching the alligator eyes stare him down and the faux teeth bob up and down over his cock. The last time he'd laughed so much he'd been watching a warehouse filled with Colombian drug cartel members burn to the ground.

The following day they spent five hours in the car together. Dean talked, unprompted, about what life had been like growing up in Richardson. Nothing was a surprise; Castiel had figured out that part of Dean when he'd still been in prison. It was interesting to hear the spin Dean put on his childhood with the help of nostalgia and the selective memory most people employed when thinking of their pasts. He was certain Dean's teen years hadn't been quite as charmed as the kid was painting them to be, but he'd probably lived a happier existence than most other teenagers.

They'd arrived in Gibsland, Louisiana in the early afternoon. Plenty of time to take a short tour of the Bonnie and Clyde Museum. Castiel had found the whole experience annoying because all he could see were all the mistakes the couple had made. The whole gang actually. It was a mistake to work in groups or pairs for anything beyond a job that required it. Living and traveling and planning and working indefinitely with another person or persons was just asking for disaster and dissention. Even when the job had required it, Castiel had never played very well with others. Most people didn't how to be quiet and still or if they did they didn't know when to speak and to fight. Dean was the first person he'd ever kept around for any length of time. And he supposed that had caused trouble for him: the incident with Banger, agreeing to back Sokolov when he didn't believe in him, killing Alexei on impulse. He was ignoring his own rules and acting against his instincts. But then, if nature had taught him anything, change and evolution were not only inevitable, but necessary for survival.

Castiel had decided against staying in a motel that night and drove them out along a secluded stretch of highway lined with a dense forest. In the dying light of the day they had practiced shooting at pine cones and stray leaves and in Castiel's case one bird until Dean kicked him in the shins. He had loved watching Dean handle the weapon, the way his long fingers competently loaded the magazine, cleared a jam, and caressed the trigger. He was a better shot than Castiel had thought and he'd actually had to put effort into beating him at sharpshooting.

And Castiel saw it. Dean was in color because he could be his partner. His business partner. He was smart enough and strong enough and talented enough that with some serious training he could be a hit man of Castiel's caliber. If only he had the disposition for it. But he didn't. So, he wasn't really useful after all. He wasn't an equal. But Dean's colors still refused to fade or break back into swirling chaos.

He'd taken Dean's face in his hands, startling him a little bit, but he wasn't worried about what was going on in his head because he'd kissed him. He'd licked and nibbled gently at Dean's lower lip. He'd kissed his boy's lips—those lips that belonged to him—and couldn't help but think how much better it would be if Dean had just a little more darkness in him. He'd pulled back and sighed. Then he'd taken him up against a tree. Easy, lazily and with Dean groaning and moaning and sounding nothing like the broken drunk in New Orleans. He'd asked Dean if he loved him. He'd answered yes, of course. He always did. And for once it made Castiel not only happy because of the power it gave him over Dean, but just because he liked the timbre of his boy's voice as he hummed the words softly into his ear.

Three hours of driving in the morning had brought them to Hot Springs, Arkansas. It had been another obnoxious amalgamation of tourist traps like a Tesla coil and a freeze-dried merman. But there had been the hot springs. It would have been more interesting if they could have gone directly into the springs themselves, but he supposed a private bath large enough for two filled with the warm spring water was a good alternative. His good mood had been partially ruined by Dean cackling over the fact that the "big bad hit man liked to take bubble baths." There had been no bubbles. But there had been an obnoxious brat who'd been given an impromptu enema.

The next day they had driven two hours to Fouke, Arkansas. There had been something about a Boggy Monster and Bigfoot. After ten minutes and a picture that even Castiel was actually possibly feeling what might be embarrassment over, he forced Dean back into the car. They drove almost four hours to Decatur, Texas. There was a Texaco covered in petrified wood. And that was all. He'd turned to Dean and told him he was getting a little too desperate. Dean had been anxious, but subdued. He hadn't replied and hadn't protested when Castiel put him back in the car. An hour later they had been checking into an extended stay hotel just outside Richardson, Texas.

Dean was home.

***

Castiel checked his voicemail service for messages. There were two from Stenberg that weren't anything he felt a pressing need to address. So he returned his focus to Dean. The kid was pacing and talking to himself. Well, Castiel supposed he was technically talking to him, but he'd stopped paying attention about half an hour ago. They'd been in Richardson for three days and it was time for him to go talk to his parents.

"Dean," Castiel cut him off mid-sentence. "It's not that hard. Just tell them the job you moved out there for didn't work out, and that's why you came home. You don't have to give any details. Tell them you started community college. They'll probably be so thrilled about that they won't care about the job. I'm sure they'll try to get you to go to school here."

"Right. And how do I tell them no?"

"Why would you tell them no?"

"Because—" Dean's brow creased. "Are you leaving me here?"

Castiel leaned back against the wall at the head of the bed. He hadn't told Dean yet that he would be leaving him for a few years. Perhaps he should since he was certain Dean was about to assume the worst.

"I'm not leaving you. I'm putting you somewhere that you'll have familiarity and comfort when I can't be around. My new job will keep me away for longer periods than my old one did."

"Oh." Dean was still frowning.

"What?" Castiel asked. He disliked it when people didn't automatically accept his plans as the best and only way to do something.

"Nothing. Just—I'm not sure familiarity is what I want. How can I look my parents in the eye after I, well—" he waffled a hand in the air in Castiel's general direction. "You know. You."

Dean took a step back and gulped loudly. Good. He must have put on the expression that reflected his mood.

"I don't give two fucks if you won't tell your family you've had sex with a man, but I will not put up with your bullshit notion that you _can't_ tell them because it will show you to be less than a man."

"No, no. Not that. Well, kind of that. What I meant was that you're—" Dean looked at him like he was crazy. "Castiel!"

"What?"

"You're a hit man! You're a murderer. A murderer who gets off on killing. A murderer who doesn't understand why murder is wrong. You can't explain how you're friends with—in love with—someone like that to anyone! Not without people locking you up in a padded room forever."

"So, don't tell them that."

"I won't, but...it's all I'll be able to think about when I'm with them. Look, I know it’s an act of futility, but I’m trying to explain things to you from my perspective, which to be fair to me, is the perspective of the majority of the people on the planet.”

Castiel crossed his arms. He didn’t care what the majority of the people on the planet thought because he knew almost all of them were idiots. But Dean was an equal. He frowned. He didn’t like his boy being his equal, not really.

“Okay. Explain it.”

Dean drew in a breath.

“While you strip.”

Dean made a face at him. “Is it okay if I use the chair since we don’t have a pole?”

“Not, stripper-strip. Just take off your clothes.”

“Oh.” Dean whipped his shirt over his head and balled it up. Castiel could see the split second indecision, and then he threw it at Castiel. He caught it easily and Dean bit on his lip to hide his smile as he began to undo the fly of his jeans.

“Most people never kill anything bigger than a spider in their lives. We might say, ‘I could kill him,’ or have murderous thoughts, but if we ever actually acted on them, most people would be horrified. Or least feel a little guilt or remorse or regret. Point is we would feel _something_.”

“I feel something when I kill.”

“Arousal doesn’t count!” Dean said with a pointed finger. “That is not a normal response.”

Castiel slightly rolled his eyes.

“I mean, I _really_ wanted to kill Alexei in that moment, and if the opportunity arose I probably would have. But, even knowing it was self-defense, I probably would have felt bad about it.”

“Why?”

“Just because, Castiel.”

“I thought you were trying to explain this to me. ‘Just because’ is not a reason.”

Dean shimmied out of his jeans and underwear and Castiel watched his soft cock swing slightly between his legs with his agitated movement.

“So maybe it’s not explainable. Maybe it is an innately human feeling.”

“I am human.”

“You’re not a normal one.”

“People kill people all the time. Every day. ‘Normal people’ like you call them. They do it on a large scale in wars, and individually to get money or revenge. Governments do it as punishment.”

“I’m not talking about the morality of killing, Castiel. I’m talking about what it does to you. While reprehensible, killing someone for money makes a cerebral kind of sense. But that’s not why you kill, is it? You’ve managed to harness your need to kill into a lucrative business that keeps you out of FBI profilers' text books. But you don’t kill for money; you kill because you _need_ to. Like when we were in Nashville. Were you paid to kill whoever it was you killed?”

Castiel shook his head.

“So, then why did you do it?”

“Because I felt restless and missed the feeling of blood on my hands.”

Dean stepped up onto the bed and then kneeled over Castiel’s legs. “And that is why you aren’t normal and I can’t explain why I love you to anyone. Not even to myself.”

“Try.”

“Try what?”

“Try to explain why you love me. And turn around.”

Dean turned and Castiel maneuvered him until he was on all fours, pert ass only a few inches from his face. Castiel took out a bottle of lube and slicked up his fingers. He began circling Dean’s hole as the kid started talking, his voice quavering only a little.

“I love you because…I feel good around you.”

Castiel pushed two fingers inside him easily and Dean hummed and arched his back.

“A dildo can make you feel good, pretty. Do you love all those dildos I bought you?”

“Actually I do,” Dean replied with a laugh as he pressed his hips back onto Castiel’s hand.

Castiel smacked his butt with his free hand and Dean yelped softly.

“Okay, no, I don’t love them like I love you. And when I said I feel good around you, I didn’t mean you make me feel good, like this.” He spread his knees a little more and Castiel thumbed at where his fingers were sunk up to the last knuckle in his boy. “Ohhh, yes…this feels good, Cas…tiel…you can make me feel so…so good. Another, add another,” Dean breathed.

That was way too close to a command for Castiel’s liking, but he’d already planned on adding a third finger anyway, and pushed it inside him easily. Dean grunted and snapped his hips down.

“Fuck yes.”

Castiel slapped his ass again. “Language, baby boy. Talk pretty for me. Why do you love me?”

“I told you. I-I—God, Castiel…”

Castiel pumped his fingers quickly in and out, almost transfixed by the way Dean’s rim expanded and contracted around him so smoothly. He added a fourth finger.

“Fuh—nn—Castiel. Castiel. I love that I can be who I am with you. With my occasional bad thoughts and egotistical actions. Ah, ahn. With my insecurities and attitude and—oh Jesus, there—and my faults and flaws and my strengths and my selfish desires annnnnnd—oh, God, do it, do it,” Dean hissed when he felt Castiel’s thumb flirting with his hole.

Castiel was tempted. He’d never fisted him before and he was curious if he could really take it. Instead he worked the fly of his pants down with one hand.

“Keep going, sweet boy.”

“I’m just a—a man. Who makes mistakes like everybody else.” Dean’s breath hitched when Castiel took his cock in hand. “Who doesn’t always make the right decisions or feel like I’m good enough to make the people I love proud of me. But to you—you…oh God, oh God, CastielI’msoclose…”

Castiel slowed the hand in his ass and let go of his cock. His boy shuddered, and then collected himself. He started speaking again in hoarse voice after swallowing thickly.

“You wouldn’t change me. Wouldn’t want to. You like me as the total fuck up I am because for you—that’s perfect. I’m what you need. You love that I’m perfect for you—your good,” Dean rocked his hips down onto Castiel’s hand, “sweet,” again he made the movement, “obedient boy—ah, shit!”

Dean cried out as on the third time he pushed back onto Castiel’s hand, he met him with a thrust of his arm. Dean rolled his hips.

“Gonna put it all in?” he asked breathlessly.

“No. Move forward.”

Dean mostly repressed his huff of disappointment and shuffled forward until Castiel stopped him. Castiel lay back, slightly propped up by the pillows. He’d pulled his cock out of his pants and guided Dean back toward it with the hand that was still buried inside him. He easily traded his hand for his dick and the lube inside Dean was enough for him to sink down until his ass was flush with Castiel’s hips.

“Come on, little cowboy, we’re in Texas now.”

Dean sat up and began riding him, bracing his hands on Castiel’s shins. Castiel pushed him forward a little so that he had a clear shot of his cock sliding in and out of his boy’s pretty hole. That was his favorite part after all.

“So, you’re in love with me because I don’t mind the fact that you like cock?”

Dean sighed. “Either you’re fucking with me or you weren’t listening.”

Castiel let out a small laugh. “I was listening, baby boy. You were saying that you’re mine.”

Dean groaned long and loud. “Yes, yes…Cas…I’m yours. Whenever, however, just fucking take me with you.”

Castiel started, surprised by his words. Then he realized Dean had meant it figuratively. Probably. At the very least he certainly didn’t know about Russia. He relaxed again and rubbed his hands over Dean’s back as the kid worked his hips in a series of figure eights.

“Up and down, baby,” Castiel ordered softly.

Dean began using his thighs to lift up slightly and then snap his hips down. Their flesh made beautiful, rhythmic slapping noises when they came together. Castiel put his hands to Dean’s ass cheeks and spread him slightly so he had a better view and Dean increased his pace.

“You’re going to go see your family today,” Castiel said.

“O-okay…”

Castiel stared, transfixed as Dean’s body enveloped him again and again. “You won’t talk about me, but you won’t let them, not even your father, make you feel bad for any of your choices.”

“N-no…if I’m perfect for you that’s more than good enough. C-Castiel, you feel so fuh—uh—so good…”

“And to help you, I’m going to give you a little liquid courage,” Castiel said calmly.

“I don’t think being drunk will help. Jesus Christ, have I ever told you that _you’re_ fucking perfect? Fuck me, Castiel! Fuck—ahn!”

“Not alcohol, baby boy. I want you to come, Dean; use your hand if you need to.”

Dean shortened his thrusts and fucked onto his dick even faster. He moved one hand to grab his cock and within three strokes he was gasping around a guttural shout and shooting his load out onto the mattress. Castiel grabbed his hips and pulled him back so that he was seated deep inside his boy. He leaned his head back and sighed as he felt the calm pleasure or orgasm soothe his mind. He could feel himself filling his boy with warm, thick come. Dean was keening and grinding his hips down, wanting to feel more of him.

Castiel pushed him off and forced him onto his stomach in a series of quick movements. The air rushed out of Dean’s lungs at the surprise, and Castiel quickly picked up the plug he’d left on the nightstand after washing it from the previous night. It slipped easily into Dean’s clenching hole, and his rim clamped onto the base. It wasn’t a big plug, not really meant for stretching, but for being worn all day. He patted Dean’s butt.

“You wear that when you go. And any time your father starts giving you shit, you shift your weight and feel me inside you and know that you have _my_ approval.”

“So I don’t need his.”

“Exactly.”

Dean sighed tiredly. He turned his head slightly so he could look at Castiel. “Is it okay if I still want his approval though?”

“I suppose. I guess your father is your Kuznetsov.”

Dean made a face. “What? That guy was a disgusting—“

“Not him. The original Kuznetsov. I always wanted his approval. Until I figured out that the only person’s who approval I really needed was my own.”

Dean stared at him and then kind of giggled. He put a hand to his forehead.

“Oh my God. If I weren’t lying in a puddle of my own come with a butt plug holding a load of jizz in my ass, I would think this is a scene straight out of an after school special.”

Castiel turned his head slightly. “I don’t—I don’t know what that means.”

Dean laughed and turned onto his back. He moved his legs so that they were on either side of Castiel’s waist.

“And what are you going to do while I’m gone? Sit here and jerk off thinking about how my good ol’ boy daddy will be talking to me with your come in my ass?”

“No. I have work to do.”

“Oh, so sorry.”

“Careful,” Castiel said and the kid immediately dropped his cocky smile.

“What if they ask me to stay the night?”

“You will be sleeping here tonight,” Castiel responded automatically.

Dean nodded and smiled softly.

“Okay.”

***

Two months after arriving in Richardson, Castiel met him. Quite by accident. He’d studied the city enough to learn it’s layout, but he wasn’t as familiar with it as he probably should have been.

The time he had spent in Texas had been a learning experience. He’d learned that he did not like the weather, the people, and most of the food. He also learned that Dean picked up a slight twang in his voice when he was around other people who had a Texas drawl. He didn’t like it.

He wasn’t sure what Dean did when he left the motel. He assumed he spent time with his family and some of his old friends. At least, when he talked about what he did each day when he came back he included information about some of those things. Castiel didn’t feel the need to log it as anything which was worth taking note. He did remember that Dean’s parents had been ecstatic that Dean had started had community college in Chicago and offered to help him pay for school if he applied to a four year university (in Texas). Castiel had given him permission to do so; it would be best if he had something to keep him occupied while he was away.

Dean had mentioned something about his parents wondering why he wouldn’t move back in with them and how they couldn’t understand why he was staying in a hotel. So, Castiel had told him to start condo hunting and he would buy him whatever he liked. Dean had asked him how he would explain having enough money to buy a condo that wouldn’t involve mentioning he had a sugar daddy. Castiel didn’t like that term nor was he happy that Dean wouldn’t think for himself.

So, he’d tied him up, put a cock ring on him, and wouldn’t let him come until he’d figured it out on his own. After the kid had spent the first twenty minutes whining that he couldn’t think like this and there was no viable explanation, he’d finally started thinking once he realized Castiel was serious and wouldn’t let him go until he solved his own problem. Castiel knew he was smart. He wanted Dean to realize it too. If he was going to leave him on his own, he had to trust that the kid could take care of himself.

He’d done his best to distract his boy, mainly because it was pleasing to watch him squirm, but also to make him learn how to work through distractions. It was similar to some of the training Castiel had undergone, although he’d been forced to work through pain rather than pleasure. He supposed he could have beaten Dean and broken a few bones to achieve the same result, but Dean’s voice sounded so much better when he was screaming in pleasure than pain. It was as he was coming inside Dean for the third time that he realized he’d never heard Dean scream in pain before. How could he know he preferred one to the other?

He’d ignored the question and stroked Dean’s dangerously engorged cock. His boy had cried beautiful tears and pleaded with him and even cursed him some. He’d come up with a few ideas, but Castiel had rejected them. At last, just shy of two hours from when he’d had the cock ring put on him, Dean hit on it: he would tell his parents he had been given a generous settlement from the LA County Department of Corrections for his unfortunate involvement in the escape of a dangerous prisoner. He would tell them he hadn’t told them about it before because he’d signed a nondisclosure. All of which was technically true, except the severance pay he had received wasn’t nearly enough to cover the four bedroom condo Castiel said he would prefer.

Then Castiel had let him come, but it was so fast and violent that it had hardly been pleasurable except as sheer relief. Castiel had stayed next to him, massaging his tense muscles and whispering in his ear—telling him that from then on he needed to start thinking rather than letting a situation overwhelm him; he needed to find solutions to his problems rather than give in to them. Dean had nodded and promised to be better. Castiel was pleased with his resolve.

The weeks since their arrival had been a little slow for Castiel. He hadn’t noticed it too much though because he’d just devoted his downtime to fucking Dean. When he was on his own he kept in contact with Stenberg, and then would contact Brenna to find out what was really going on. The take down of the Krov Syndicate had made national news and Castiel had glanced down at his hand in surprise when Dean had gripped it tightly as he’d seen Sokolov led away in handcuffs on the nightly news. The Feds had done their work well and had found connections to people and businesses that Castiel hadn’t even bothered to provide them with. Seventeen missing persons cases became homicides as the bodies were found. None of Castiel’s hits of course, he never left a body. The grand jury was hearing testimony currently to determine if the case would need to go to court. Castiel was certain there would be a trial. And it wouldn’t be until the trial started that Sokolov would realize that none of his usual tactics to avoid conviction—jury tampering, buying off the police, letting someone else take the fall—weren’t going to work. They were all going down and they had no allies on the outside.

Castiel had made sure to reorganize his off shore accounts and disconnect them from any money trails that would lead back to the syndicate or any of its affiliates. He was probably going to need to set up an account in Dean’s name that he would have access to while he was gone. He wasn’t just going to leave his boy high and dry.

He’d been busy enough that the itch in his fingers was almost negligible while he got his affairs in order. And while he had Dean to distract to him. But the need was there. The pull, the want. He’d gone out a couple of times to satisfy the need. One night he’d returned to the hotel and Dean had nearly fainted. As he caught his boy by the arm and slapped his face to snap him out of it, he felt the pull of the dried blood on his face. He realized he was literally covered in blood, from almost head to toe. Perhaps he had gone a little overboard, but that’s what happened when he didn’t kill regularly.

He’d pulled Dean into his arms and could see the terror and disgust flitting in his eyes. He didn’t resist him, but Castiel could tell that if he kissed him with his bloody lips, Dean wouldn’t be happy. He paused, and waited. Dean had pulled him into the bathroom and started the shower. He washed him thoroughly with soap and shampoo, twice, and not only washed the blood away, but did his best to soothe the boiling energy that roiled under his skin when he killed. He’d avoided Castiel’s hands and lips and managed to get him out of the shower and dried him off. Then they had fallen onto the bed and Dean had let Castiel take him however he wanted. But it hadn’t been crazed or rushed. He’d been in enough to control to prep his boy enough that he could enter him without hurting him.

It should have been terrible. Not getting his completion with the high of the kill still riding him, but sex with Dean was never disappointing. This fucking kid had ruined him. He needed his sex and violence—that’s just how it worked. Castiel had pulled out a knife, determined to get his blood and his orgasm from Dean—the kid owed him. But he hadn’t been able to make a decision on where to cut him. Where would he bleed that wouldn’t leave scar on his perfect body? After a few moments, Dean had taken the knife from him and shallowly sliced open the palm of his non-dominant hand. He grasped Castiel’s shoulder and ran his hand down his arm, letting Castiel feel the hot slickness of his blood, smell the sharp, metallic bite. Castiel had thrust into him and kissed him, and then pulled Dean’s hand away. He’d wrapped a sheet around it to stave the bleeding and fucked Dean hard, but slow. He wasn’t sure but he thought he might have told Dean not to do it again. He didn’t want his blood.

He’d awoken the next morning with a smeared, bloody handprint on his arm and his boy asleep at his side. He’d let him sleep and walked into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and cleaning off his arm. He’d braced his hands on the sink and met his own eyes in the mirror. He knew he wouldn’t stop killing, but he wouldn’t make Dean clean him anymore. He would wash himself free of blood before he returned to him. Dean was his equal and had made his choice—he’d rather Castiel use his blood than a stranger’s. That was never going to happen; he never wanted to see Dean’s blood again. He finally understood what Dean had meant about his “two worlds.”

Since then, he’d pretty much kept to his decision. As he sipped a cup of black coffee in a small café in downtown Dallas, he watched the news on the TV in the corner of the room. The police chief was talking about a serial killer in the area who was targeting young college women. Apparently he was a sick bastard who tortured and raped his victims before allowing them to slowly bleed out. The police chief swore they would find the monster and bring him to justice. Castiel just smiled. The police would have a very long and fruitless search for that serial killer. Castiel had killed him about a week and a half ago.

Castiel’s eyes flicked to the door as the bells chimed. He had his back to a wall, but was near two easily accessible exits. The man that entered was in his late fifties with a touch of distinguished grey in his light brown hair. And if Dean hadn’t insisted on toting that picture frame around with him everywhere he went, Castiel wouldn’t have recognized him. The man bought a cup of coffee and a scone and searched the crowded café for a place to sit. Castiel waved a hand and got his attention.

“You can sit here,” he said, smiling pleasantly, using the tone he had learned made people feel like he was just a nice, friendly guy. “I just have one more sip of coffee and I’m done.”

“Oh, thank you,” Dean’s father replied and sat down across from him.

Castiel gathered his papers to make like he was getting ready to leave, and then he stopped. He looked the man in his muddy brown eyes. They weren’t very much like Dean’s at all.

“I’m sorry, I hope I’m not bothering you,” Castiel began, “but are you a local?”

The man nodded around a sip of coffee. “Yep. Born and raised. Lived here all my life. Well, just outside Dallas, but close enough.”

The man laughed and Castiel quickly imitated him to give him a proper reaction. Then he said, “Ah, that’s nice. I just moved to the area and I’m still trying to get the lay of the land.”

“Oh, it’s pretty easy to grasp. We’re a simple folk here. Just living the American dream.”

“I see. A shared dream, I take it? Where no one is different, and no one stands out. The nail that sticks up gets hammered down, yes?”

Dean’s father frowned slightly. “I don’t know if I would put it quite like that. We all do share a lot of the same beliefs and values, yes, but we are all individuals with our own minds.”

“Hmm. And who decides which values and beliefs are the acceptable ones?”

The man’s lips thinned. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

Castiel laughed pleasantly and some of the lines in the man’s face relaxed.

“I was just wondering how hard I was going to get thumped with the _Bible_ around here.”

Dean’s father’s scowl returned two fold. “I think I’ve disturbed your morning break. I’ll find somewhere else to sit.”

Castiel waved a dismissive hand and stood up. “No, keep it. I’m leaving.” He gathered his documents and his empty coffee cup. He paused as he stood right next to Dean’s father and looked down at him. He could see the color drain from the man’s face and a slight tremor began in his hand as he met Castiel’s eyes.

“He’s so much more than you let him be,” Castiel said.

The man’s brow creased in confusion, but he couldn’t speak or move. Not under Castiel’s scrutiny. By the time he found his voice and turned in his chair to yell after him, Castiel was mostly out the door. But he clearly heard, “Who are—! I’ve never held him back!”

Castiel wondered if he was thinking of Dean or if he thought he’d screwed his other son over as well. Dean’s half-brother was probably too young for him to be concerned about what he was doing to him. The man was an object. He had no colors, he had no depth. He wasn’t even worth the effort of killing. All killing him would do is leave Dean morose. Castiel wasn’t even sure why he felt dislike for an object. The man had been a convenient way to manipulate Dean while he’d been seducing him in prison, and it was fun to watch Dean get huffy when he brought him up during sex, but he’d never given any thought to the man himself. The sensation was odd. He could tell it stemmed from thoughts of Dean—it was similar to the self-preservation he felt when on a job. He shook off the feeling. No matter. Once seeing that Dean’s father was just a grey object, he decided to put him out of his mind. He wouldn’t need to bring him up to Dean anymore. Dean was so far beyond the scope of his father that any comparison or connection was ludicrous. Dean would probably still obsess over him, but everyone needed a hobby.

That evening Castiel stopped a small child from getting run over by a car. It had been an accident, and the child’s mother bawled obnoxiously as she thanked him. In order to keep calm and not smash her face into the ground, he just imagined what it would be like to cut out her heart in a basement somewhere while she talked. Eventually he just walked away while she was still talking. Why did objects think they deserved to take up his time? He didn’t expect he should matter in their day to day affairs, why should they matter to him?

The image the woman had painted for him made him restless. He found a young prostitute at the back entrance of a gay bar. He’d taken him to a motel room, gagged him, and bled him unconscious. He tied off his wounds to keep him alive. He wanted to see how far he could get with the cutting out of his heart before he died, but seeing the bowls of warm blood he’d collected, he couldn’t help himself. He pulled out his cock and wanted nothing more than to dip his hands in the cooling, clotting mess and touch himself until he mixed his release with the man’s lifeblood. He hesitated though. The guy was a pro; he was probably diseased. That was one of the downsides to being uncut, it would be a bitch to get himself completely clean and he didn’t want to risk giving anything to Dean. He went with Plan B which was to jack off with one hand while he dipped the other hand in the blood, clenching his fingers and rubbing them around the smooth sides of the bowl. It was a very satisfying orgasm.

While he was cleaning the bowl and washing his hands, his phone beeped. He dried his hands and checked the message. Dean had gotten a job at a vintage record store as a way to prove to his parents he intended to stick around since he wouldn’t be able to start university until the spring semester of the following year. Apparently he got off work early and would be having dinner at his parents’ before returning to the hotel. That of course in no way meant Dean was expecting Castiel to be there when he got back. Castiel kept his own hours and Dean never complained or even commented on them. He could spend all night taking the prostitute in the bed apart sinew by sinew.

The need was gone though. He’d gotten his blood, he’d gotten his high, and he’d, however unintentionally, gone through the cleansing process. He glanced at the man on the bed. He’d approached him from behind and knocked him out with etorphine. He’d tied him with his head at the foot of the bed so he could bleed him without ever being seen—it induced more terror and was more satisfying to watch. Then of course the guy had slipped into unconsciousness. Castiel took a thin piece of toilet paper and tickled the inside of the man’s ear—no response. He was still unconscious and not faking. He had never seen his face. Or heard his voice.

Castiel had worn gloves, except during the masturbation of course, and had wiped down the sink. He could just leave. He sliced through the sheet tying the guy’s left arm to the bed. He should be able to free himself from the rest of the restraints with one arm. Or maybe he’d die from the blood loss; there was no guarantee he was ever going to wake up again. Castiel did two more checks of the room, dropped a couple hundred dollar bills on the man’s chest as an afterthought, and left the motel.

He beat Dean back to the hotel and sat on the bed and imagined what he was going to do to his boy first. About fifteen minutes later the door opened and Dean called out for him as he entered.

“I’m in the bedroom,” Castiel replied.

A few moments later Dean popped his head around the corner. He smiled.

“Hunh. And here I thought you’d be naked or something.”

“Why?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. Expediency? But, I’m glad you’re not.”

“Why?”

“Don’t pout,” Dean teased. And then made a face. “Seriously, don’t pout. That’s fucking weird on you. Anyway.” Dean kicked his shoes off and stepped up onto the bed. He sat cross-legged beside Castiel’s hip and arched a brow at him.

“What?”

“I had an interesting day,” Dean said. “Let’s see, what happened?” He tapped his chin as if trying to remember something. He was lucky Castiel had satisfied his need for blood with the prostitute because otherwise he might have punched him in the nose for this kind of obnoxious pageantry. “Oh, yes! We got a new employee at the store. A cute little—well, he’s not little—but a cute high school kid who is as hyper as a puppy on a speedball. And…my half brother had his dance recital; he had a solo. And…oh, yeah. My dad told some crazy ass story at dinner about how some psycho freak had threatened him at breakfast.”

Castiel crossed his arms.

“You didn’t happen to intimidate any random men today, did you?”

“No.” Dean had been playing it like he was having a laugh at the situation, but the tension in his body visibly eased with Castiel’s answer. “It wasn’t random.”

Dean’s entire body went rigid, all mirth gone from his features. He swallowed. “Did you—did you, um, talk to my father today?”

“I did.”

“Did you tell him—um.” Dean gulped again. “Did you—what did you say to him?”

“I honestly don’t remember. He’s uninteresting.” Dean frowned. “But I didn’t tell him I was butt fucking his son if that’s what has you worried.”

“I-I didn’t really think you had. I feel like he might have mentioned that. But…whatever you said, it stuck with him. He was still upset about it.”

Castiel had no response so he just kept his eyes level with Dean’s. The kid held his gaze for a few moments, and then tipped forward to rock onto his knees. He put his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and kissed his lips with something that might have been tenderness.

“How do you want me?” Dean asked quietly, the words falling into Castiel’s mouth as he parted his lips.

“Lie down,” Castiel replied.

Dean got on his back and Castiel rolled on top of him. He kissed him and worked a thigh between Dean’s legs, rubbing over his growing erection in an easy, pleasurable rhythm. Dean raised his left leg, just slightly, enough to make their bodies fit together.

“Good boy,” Castiel said, maybe moaned.

Dean moved in counter rhythm to Castiel’s shallow rutting. “Is it going to be gentle tonight, Castiel?”

“Yeah, baby. You’ve been good for me. I’m gonna take care of my baby boy tonight.”

Dean hummed excitedly and wrapped his arms around Castiel’s shoulders.

“C-Cas—tiel?”

“Yes, baby?” Castiel definitely moaned this time as Dean’s nails dug into his skin through his shirt.

“Can I—would you mind—um…”

“What is it, sweet boy?” Castiel kissed him, thrust his tongue into his mouth and imitated the easy rocking of their lower bodies against Dean’s tongue for a long minute. He pulled back. “What do you want, Dean?”

“Can I pretend we’re making love tonight?”

Castiel shifted and got completely between Dean’s legs, bringing their groins together. Dean gasped and Castiel caught his boy’s lower lip between his teeth. He worried the tender flesh for a moment and then let go. He dropped a soothing kiss onto his swollen lip.

“Whatever you want,” Castiel breathed and began removing Dean’s clothes.

***

Five weeks later, and four months to the day of Alexei's death, Castiel was turning his phone over and over in his hand. Stenberg had left him a message two days ago. Castiel had answered it yesterday and had been quite annoyed when Stenberg hadn't immediately answered. Or called him back within a couple of minutes. Castiel began to suspect something was amiss when Stenberg hadn't called by noon the following day. It was three o'clock now and he turned the phone over in his hand as he contemplated calling Brenna.

The door to the hotel room opened and Castiel turned, mildly surprised to see Dean. He wasn't supposed to be back until after five, but Castiel didn't even care what the reason was for him being back early because he could use sex to take his mind off Stenberg.

"Hey, Castiel, I had a half day at work so I went to visit the Summit Condominiums," Dean announced as he dropped his book bag off on the small sleeper sofa and began toeing his shoes off. "They do have one available on the second floor, but it's a three bedroom instead of four. However, it has like a little den thing which is kind of like a fourth room and a ton of closet space. Do you want to look at the website or do you need to see it in per—mm!"

Castiel silenced Dean with a kiss and hauled him in with a two-handed ass grab. Dean's arms went around his neck and he kissed him back, legs parting slightly as Castiel pulled him even closer. Castiel bent his knees slightly, and Dean knew to hop up and wrap his legs around Castiel's waist as he got a hold of him under his ass. Without breaking the kiss Castiel carried his boy to the bedroom and then dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed. Dean started talking rapidly to get as much of his news out as possible while Castiel slowly removed his clothes. Once Castiel was naked, Dean wouldn't be thinking coherently for awhile.

"I know it's not exactly what you wanted so we can stay here until what you want becomes available, but I think you'll like it. It's a corner unit and the garage does allow you to buy spaces, so you don't only have an assigned two or whatever. And the location is good. It's right by a Picadilly's. That's a cafeteria style restaurant."

"So?" Castiel asked, shirt already gone, hands working on the fly of his jeans.

"They serve Jell-O every day."

"Oh. Maybe I could check it out."

Dean smiled. "Oh, also, I have a little problem regarding school..."

Castiel stopped undressing and sat on the bed. "What? Did you not get your materials in on time?"

"No. I mean, yes, I did. But that's not the problem. I'll probably get in one or the other, but now that I have this great windfall payout that's enough to buy a two and a half million dollar condo right in downtown Dallas, I feel like I should pay for my own tuition."

Castiel had been pulling at Dean's zipper and now had his hand down his pants.

"But you don't have a great windfall."

"I know. Do see my dilemma now? I mean, if I asked I'm sure my parents would pay without too many questions, but I wouldn't feel right taking money from them."

"You have no problem taking money from me."

"Because it's not really taking. It's for services rendered."

Castiel raised his eyebrows and massaged Dean's balls. "You consider yourself a prostitute?"

"No. The money is for putting up with your shit." Dean leaned close and grinned. "The sex you get for free." He kissed him and Castiel pulled back.

"You know I don't like it when you're cocky."

"I do." Dean lay back on the bed and undulated provocatively, spreading his legs, and biting his lip. "Is this better?"

"You are a little shit," Castiel muttered, but he hadn't let go of Dean's balls and he could feel his boy's cock filling against his forearm.

"No, Castiel, I'm your perfect boy, remember?"

Castiel leaned over him and saw that flicker of fear in Dean's eyes that never failed to get him hard. He released Dean's groin and moved his hand up to caress his neck. Dean lifted his chin and exposed his throat, if not trusting Castiel, at least offering himself to whatever Castiel had planned for him. His submission calmed the flash of anger he'd felt at losing momentary control over Dean. He swiped his thumb over Dean's Adam's apple, applying light pressure, but decided not to press the issue at the moment. He leaned down and kissed him, moving his hand just enough to feel the sharp angle of his jaw. It fit the curve of his hand perfectly. He pulled back and Dean's eyes fluttered open, his long eyelashes exaggerating the movement and accentuating the bright green of his irises. He looked a little dazed and all Castiel had done was give him a fairly tame kiss.

"I like your jaw," Castiel said.

Dean's vision cleared a little and he focused on Castiel's face.

"Um. Thank you."

"I like your body."

Dean smiled softly. "It's yours."

"Hm. I can't wait for you to be grown."

Dean cocked his head to the side. "I'm almost twenty-two; I am grown."

"No, not yet. You've got some filling out to do. Just wait until you're thirty. You'll be gorgeous."

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "Will you still want me when I'm thirty?"

"Will you want me?" Castiel countered. "I'll be..." He paused as he tried to remember his birthday. He guesstimated, "...forty-two."

"That's still pretty young," Dean said.

"I suppose. But just think, when you're still 'pretty young' at forty-eight, you'll be fucking a sixty year old man."

Dean's nose wrinkled. "Ew."

Castiel tilted his head toward Dean, resting his forehead against his temple. Sixty years old. Today might be the first day of his life that he even contemplated reaching that age. Dean raised a hand and trailed his index finger down the line of Castiel' jaw.

"Do you think you'll still be alive at sixty?" he asked very, very quietly.

"Well, most hit men don't make it to thirty unless they are very good at what they do."

"No, I know you're good, but..." he dropped his hand and curled his fingers against Castiel' chest instead. "But what about when...your body fails you. When you don't move as fast or hear as well."

Well those were certainly things Castiel didn't concern himself with because he'd never been concerned with his future. He took a moment to actually contemplate what Dean had said. All he could muster was a little apathy, but the kid looked quite concerned.

"I guess I'll just have to retire," he said flippantly, but going by Dean's expression he hadn't quite changed the inflection in his voice the way he had meant.

"Do hit men retire?" Dean asked, much too seriously for where Castiel thought the conversation was.

Then he remembered a man who had taught him how to aim between the bones and ligament in the wrist in order to get a knife easily all the way through in one stab. He'd been nearly fifty when he had taught him that and Castiel had heard that he'd retired to Fiji a couple years later.

"Some do," Castiel replied. "I'll probably need to take up a hobby though."

Dean let out a soft laugh. "What, like bird watching or stamp collecting?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of serial killing. Even if you lose your edge, it's still pretty easy to take out someone who is untrained and unaware that you're there."

He looked down at Dean and the kid had a displeased and perhaps slightly ticked off expression on his face.

"What?" He ran a hand through Dean's hair. "I would only kill bad guys." Well, probably. Shit happened.

"Could you at least give bird watching a shot first?"

"You know, there are actually some species of fish that's life span is so short that by changing its environment you can actually see evolution taking place."

Dean's lips twitched and Castiel could tell he was fighting back a smile, but he wasn't sure why.

"You're going to study evolution?" he asked, trying to mask laughter in his voice that again Castiel didn't understand what he found so amusing.

"What's wrong with that?" Castiel demanded.

"Nothing, nothing. Except that you'll just be looking at fish all day."

"You want me to watch birds all day."

"Good point. Okay, watch fish then. And when you come home..." Dean reached up and tugged very gently on Castiel's shoulder to get him to roll on top of him. "You just tell me how you want it."

Castiel kissed Dean's smile and put a hand to his slim waist, his thumb settling comfortably on his hip bone. He was looking forward to seeing Dean as a man, but he would miss this delicate body too. Castiel slipped his hand under Dean’s clothes and rubbed his hip, loving how smooth his skin was. His boy was unblemished and untouched by anyone but him. From what he had gleaned of Dean’s sex life prior to him, the kid had barely been an active participant. Castiel suspected that his girlfriend in LA might have cheated on him for more than just career advancement. He wondered if Dean might actually be more gay than he was bisexual, but he was saving that little mind fuck for a day when Dean really deserved it. For now though he just appreciated that basically all of Dean’s firsts were his.

“Baby,” Castiel said into mouth.

“Y-Yeah?” Dean panted.

“Will you ever let anyone else touch you?” He slid his lips over Dean’s cheekbone to allow him to speak.

“You’re so smart, Castiel. You don’t know the answer to that?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Never. I’d rather die than be touched by anyone but you.”

Castiel kissed him. “Good.” He settled his weight completely on top of Dean, riding him into the mattress. “You’ve gotten used to having a steady diet of sex though.”

“So?”

“So, like I said, my new job will take me away for longer. Will you be able to wait it out?”

“I might deplete dildos.com’s inventory, but yeah, I can wait it out.”

Castiel smiled. “Good boy.”

“I am, Castiel. Whatever you want.”

“What if I died, baby boy? Would you be able to survive off dildos for the rest of your life?”

“If you died the rest of my life would be very short.”

“You’d kill yourself for me?”

“Probably.”

Castiel liked that answer. It was more honest than saying yes to please him. “What if you didn’t know I had died?”

“I would wait until you came back or I had proof.”

“Hm.” Castiel dipped his head and kissed along Dean’s neck. He pushed his head to the side, making a large tendon jump underneath his skin. Castiel bit onto it and Dean winced, but didn’t pull away. He released his hold and licked his skin, warming it and stimulating it, bringing the blood to the surface.

“What if I _told_ you to have sex with someone else?” Castiel mused, not suggesting it seriously, but Dean seemed to think he was.

Dean went rigid and Castiel was utterly shocked at the extremely foreign sensation of having a hand grip his hair and yank his head up. His scalp tingled. It had hurt. Dean made eye contact and he looked murderous. Maybe there was darkness in his boy after all.

“You would never,” Dean said, his voice low and rough with rage.

Castiel felt that shifting calm that overcame him when he was about to make a kill. Dean’s hand released his hair, but he tried to hold onto his hard, fearless expression. He failed. He looked terrified. And with good reason.

Castiel grabbed his wrist and rolled off him just enough to yank him over by his arm, nearly tearing it out of its socket and pulling it up behind Dean’s back at an unnatural and dangerous angle. Dean’s scream was muffled as his face was shoved into the mattress. Castiel paused. Just the slightest bit more pressure would break Dean’s humorous and elbow joint and probably his ulna.

“You want to try that reply again?” Castiel asked calmly.

Dean turned his head carefully so he could talk, but the movement clearly put strain on his arm and made him whimper in agony.

“No. I have no other response,” Dean said, voice lanced with pain. “So you go right on ahead and react to that however you like.”

Castiel tensed his muscles, ready to push down and snap the bones in Dean’s arms. He hesitated again. He wasn’t angry. He hadn’t liked Dean’s display of control, but the fact that he told him he would do it again knowing the consequences—Castiel was rock hard. He wanted to fuck Dean, like now. And while he could do it with Dean’s arm broken, it would limit their positions and Dean’s ability to participate. Possibly if he was in enough pain, he wouldn’t even get hard. And there was no fun in that.

He released his hold and Dean’s arm snapped back to his side. He gasped in a couple of ragged breaths as he gingerly folded it back to a normal position and tucked it protectively against his body. Castiel leaned over Dean, nudging his ass with his erection and placed a soft kiss on the back of his neck.

“I don’t understand you,” Castiel confessed.

“Well,” Dean said, voice still a little strained, “at least in that regard we are equal.”

Castiel put his hand on Dean’s arm and he didn’t even flinch though he had no idea what Castiel might do to him. Or maybe he did know what he _wouldn’t_ do to him. Castiel rubbed his arm and settled his weight on Dean’s body, his cock pushing through the opening of his fly and rubbing maddeningly against the denim of Dean’s jeans.

“I want to fuck you, Dean.”

Dean nodded. “I want you to.”

His boy pushed his hips up and he thrust down into the movement. Castiel put a hand under his chin and forced him to turn his head awkwardly back so he could kiss him as he rutted against him.

“C-Cas-Castiel?”

“What?” he asked distractedly as he tried to make Dean stop talking by filling his mouth with his tongue.

“Ahm-um-did you-mmm-leave a—“ he cut off as they kissed loud, sloppy, smacking kisses. Maybe there was some merit in kissing. “Is there a vibrator in your pocket?” Dean forced out when Castiel pulled back so he could angle his hips better against Dean’s ass.

The question made him pause, and in so doing he felt his phone vibrating in his front pocket. He growled unhappily as he dug it out of his pocket. Any other time he would have ignored it, but he’d been waiting to hear back from Stenburg. He was going to cut off the man’s balls the next time he saw him. He brought the phone to his ear.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked by way of greeting. His tone made Dean raise his head curiously.

“Busy,” Brenna’s voice said.

Castiel raised an eyebrow and rolled off Dean and onto his side. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“No, and I apologize for the sudden notice. Especially since I have bad news.”

“How bad?” Castiel asked, voice flat.

“Oh! Not that bad. God. If it were that bad I would never inform you and go into hiding for the rest of my life.”

She laughed pleasantly and Castiel wondered if this conversation was going to last longer than thirty seconds. He signaled to Dean to turn over and the kid obeyed immediately, rolling onto his back and fitting his body snuggly against Castiel’s body. Castiel moved the phone to his right ear and held it in place with his hand as he used his elbow to prop himself up. The other hand he moved to Dean’s open fly and plunged right in underneath his underwear. Dean arched slightly and hummed softly as Castiel’s hand began stroking him slowly.

“So why are you calling then?”

“Stenberg is dead.”

“Already?” Castiel swiped his thumb through the precome at the head of Dean’s cock and spread it back down the shaft. “I thought you were going to wait.”

“Circumstances forced my hand.”

“Anything that affects me?” He used his wrist and forearm to push Dean’s briefs back so that he could pull his cock free of his pants.

“No. Only that you now work for me instead of Stenberg.”

“Try not to let the power go to your head,” Castiel said dryly, reaching down to cup Dean’s balls.

“I won’t. But that’s not the bad news. Although, maybe it’s not bad news. It’s just that I’m going to need you to leave for Russia on Thursday.”

Castiel’s hand stilled. And then he resumed stroking Dean’s shaft.

“You can still go, right? You haven’t changed your mind?” Brenna asked, sounding unsure when he didn’t respond.

“Yeah, I can go.” He rubbed his thumb over and over Dean’s glans and the kid put his hand to his mouth to try to stay quiet. “Just overnight the documentation to the address on the card.”

“Will do. There’s also one other slight change. We do still need you to do a little snooping around before we make any decisions about who needs more specialized attention from you.”

Castiel snorted softly and increased the pressure of his grip, twisting his hand around the head on the upstrokes. Dean’s knuckles were white where they gripped the bedspread and Castiel was concerned he might break the skin on the hand between his teeth.

“We need you to do a hit as soon as possible after your arrival.”

Castiel released Dean’s cock and pulled his hand from his mouth. He returned to jacking him and Dean couldn’t repress his moans completely anymore, though he kept them as quiet as possible.

“That’s fine. I don’t really like flying, so that will be a good way to relax when I get there.”

“Excellent. We want you to kill Edmund Rainen.”

Castiel was a little surprised by the request. He pumped his hand faster and Dean’s humming got louder and more urgent.

“I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it, but why? Isn’t he a little high profile?”

“He’s a traitor, Konstantin. What did you do to traitors in your other organization?”

“Well, usually, beat them first. Then broke their bones in increasing size of bone. Then a little flaying. The employers usually wanted fingernails and toenails ripped off, but that’s not really my favorite thing to do. And then there would be the cutting and the pricking and the stabbing and the blood letting—“

He cut off as he realized he no longer heard Dean. He looked down and saw the kid looking at him with pursed lips and annoyed eyes. He stopped his descriptions and increased the pace of his hand. Dean’s jaw dropped and his eyes closed and there was that pretty moan of pleasure again.

“Well, all of that won’t be necessary,” Brenna said. “You just need to shoot him in the face. Well, not the face. We need to be able to positively identify him for the public.”

“I can do that.” He laid into Dean and the kid jerked on the bed and groaned more than loudly enough to be heard in the next room over.

“What is that?” Brenna asked.

“Dean,” Castiel said.

Brenna made some sort of noise on her end.

“Oh, fuck, fuck—Castiel, Castiel—“ Dean cried out. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Castiel stroked him through the orgasm and Brenna said, “Well. I can tell you’re busy.”

“Just finished actually,” Castiel responded with a smirk.

“You’re such an ass. Let me know if you have any issues with the documentation. There will be instructions on how to contact me once you reach Moscow.”

“I’ll call you on Friday then.” Castiel smiled as Dean pulled Castiel’s hand from his cock so that he could take his fingers into his mouth and start cleaning his come off of them.

“Excellent. Thank you, Konstantin. I’ve always been able to count on you.”

“Goodbye, Brenna.”

He ended the call and dropped the phone so he could concentrate on Dean’s mouth and tongue sliding over his fingers.

“Good boy,” Castiel praised him. “But that’s enough for now. We’ve got to go to the bank before it closes.”

Dean looked confused. “But…” he trailed off and put a hand over Castiel’s erection. “I thought you wanted to fuck me.”

“Honestly, when do I _not_ want to fuck you? But sometimes business has to come first.”

“The bank will be open tomorrow,” Dean groused.

Today was Monday. If they went to the bank tomorrow he would probably still have time to prepare everything else before his departure on Wednesday. He would need to travel to his PO Box in Indiana before he could leave for Russia on Thursday. He had time. Especially if he only had a couple more days to have his boy before he had to give him up for the next several years. He nodded and Dean eagerly began kicking his pants off to the floor.

***

“Oh. My. God. What are you wearing?” Dean asked around giggles as he looked at Castiel.

Castiel scowled at him. “It’s a hat.”

“Yeah, but…” Dean trailed off and rolled his lips in to keep himself quiet.

Castiel didn’t understand why he was so amused. It was just a baseball cap, like the kind that millions of other people wore.

“I won’t have control over our placement in the bank, Dean, and there are security cameras everywhere. My new employers have wiped me from the Most Wanted list, but it still won’t do me any good if I get recognized and picked up by the locals. I don’t have time for any delays.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“Just get out of the car,” Castiel said and opened his own car door.

He walked up to the bank and kept his head angled so that it didn’t look like he was looking down and trying to hide his face, but still kept the bill where it needed to be to obscure his features from the cameras. Dean trailed along behind him. There had been clear surprise on his features earlier in the morning when Castiel had told him he was coming with him. He hadn’t questioned it though and had gotten ready in the time Castiel allotted him. In fact, Dean had been quite submissive since his moment of insanity yesterday. He’d been completely compliant all night long, no matter what Castiel wanted to do to him, no matter how long he refused him orgasm, no matter where Castiel decided to bend him over—and he’d tested him by taking him out into public.

It was nice, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Dean had a slightly submissive personality, but he also had a rebellious streak in him that wouldn’t stay dormant forever. He was also quite good at knowing when and where to display which of his traits that would be most useful to the situation. It was quite manipulative. Dean would make such a good sociopath. If only he could understand that most “people” were just objects and it didn’t matter if they shattered and broke.

The business at the bank went smoothly. While Dean filled out paperwork, Castiel made arrangements to transfer some money from one of his accounts into Dean’s new one. He debated whether or not it should be a joint account; not so that he could keep tabs on Dean, though that was an idea, but in case something happened and Dean would need more money transferred in. In the end he just decided to increase how much he was giving him and keep the account completely independent. If something were to happen to him, at least Dean would be set for awhile. He’d tell Brenna not to inform Dean if he died. If he could live happily in denial forever, Castiel figured he would like that for him better than some maudlin, pathetic suicide attempt.

As they left the bank, Castiel handed Dean the receipt for his account. His credit and check cards would be mailed in a couple of days to his parents’ house since he didn’t have a permanent address and he’d never changed his driver’s license when he moved to LA. Dean took the slip of paper, looked at it, and then stumbled off the curb and would have crashed to the ground if Castiel hadn’t caught his arm.

“Holy fuck, Castiel!”

“Part of that is to cover the new condo. So don’t freak out.”

“But still! This is—“ Dean glanced around furtively. “It’s ten million dollars!” he whisper-hissed.

“I know.”

“How much money do hit men make, sheesh. It can’t just be that.”

“I do have other investments and ways to make money.”

“No shit.” Dean seemed to be both concerned and impressed with this new information. “But still, the condo is only two point five mil. This is still a lot of money.”

“I just don’t want you to run out while I’m gone,” he said.

Castiel got into the car and started it. He noticed Dean was still standing outside, but before he could roll down the window and yell at him to get in, he opened the door and sat down. Castiel noticed that his expression had changed to something he couldn’t quite identify. Dean turned his head toward him, his eyes downcast.

“Exactly how long are you going to be gone?” he asked softly.

Now would be a good time to tell him.

Castiel put the car in gear and drove to the downtown real estate office that was handling their sale. After giving her a cashier’s check for the down payment and telling her Dean would be paying the rest off in full within the month, Violet smiled brilliantly and told them they were officially in escrow.

At the hotel Castiel wrote down very specifically what bed Dean was to purchase for him. He didn’t care about any of the other furniture in terms style or color or whatever it was objects concerned themselves with, but the bed had to be exactly what he wanted.

“Should I get two?”

“Two what?” Castiel asked, sticking his note in the front pocket of Dean’s backpack.

“Two beds. Like we had in Chicago.”

“If you’d like your own room still, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Would you be bothered if I just—um…I mean, would it be a problem for you if I kept my stuff in a room with yours? And stayed there.”

“We can share a bedroom. It doesn’t make a difference to me. It’s up to you if you think my hours will bother you.”

“But, if my stuff is suddenly mixed in with your stuff—“

“Doesn’t the master bedroom have two separate closets?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then that won’t happen. Dean. Why do you think I would care if your life became entwined with mine?”

Dean stared at him. And then shook his head. “Um, because one you’re a control freak and can’t stand it when I don’t put the mugs in the cabinets with the handles facing out at a forty-five degree angle—“

“It’s easier to pick them up that way.”

“—and two _what_ _did you just _say?”

“What? When?”

“Our lives become entwined? Please don’t tell me you’re harboring some sort of secret desire to get married and you fantasize about me in wedding dresses.”

And apparently the submissive Dean had clocked out for the day. He looked at him and Dean immediately dropped the attitude.

“Okay, let me put it to you this way, Dean. I don’t care if you get your shit in my stuff because the stuff I really would care if you got into it you won’t have access to anyway.”

“Ah. I see.”

Castiel sighed wearily. He had some calls to make and a supply run to go on and a black market weapons dealer to see, but instead he circled a finger in the air indicating that Dean should turn around. He obeyed and Castiel pressed against him and pushed him forward until he hit the wall. Castiel made quick work of their pants and underwear, getting them down to about mid-thigh, and then he put his fingers in Dean’s mouth. His boy sucked on them, getting them slick and Castiel licked the palm of his other hand and got his cock a little wet. Within a couple of minutes Dean was moaning softly as he rocked back on three of Castiel’s fingers. Castiel knew it would hurt a little, but Dean could take it, so he pulled his fingers out and thrust inside of his boy. He dropped his forehead to the back of his head and guided his arms up on the wall. Then Castiel laced his fingers with Dean’s so he could keep him pinned to the wall. He rocked onto the balls of his feet and Dean was pushed up onto his toes as Castiel fucked into him.

“That’s my good boy. Nice and quiet and taking my cock.”

“Feels so good, Cas,” Dean sighed.

Castiel finally noticed that calling him “Cas” wasn’t just him incapable of finishing his name because he was lust drunk. He’d given him a pet name. Strange kid. He rocked into him again and Dean moaned and dropped his head back onto Castiel’s shoulder.

“I have to leave for a little while, baby boy.”

“I don’t want you to, but I understand. I’ll get the cond-oh! Oh, Castiel, mm, Castiel, I hope I die coming on your cock one day.”

Castiel let out a huff of amusement. “You know that can be arranged?”

“Don’t ruin the mood.”

“The mood? I’m fucking you up against a wall.”

“Mmm, I know. And it feels good, but you know you could be deeper…”

“I could. But I like you right here.”

“Fine. Do you know how long you’ll be gone?”

“No—not specifically.”

“Okay. Well, like I said, I’ll get the condo set up so it will be ready for you when you get back. I’ll leave all of the closet space empty so that you can pick what you want.”

“You’re such a sweet boy.”

“Aren’t I? I taste so good, Cas. You could eat me out before I go…”

“I’m starting to think you’re not enjoying this,” Castiel said dryly.

“No, I am—really—I don’t know if you’re doing it on purpose but the ridge where your foreskin is pulled back is directly on my prostate.”

Dean shivered as Castiel moved again.

“Of course I knew that. Almost a year I’ve been fucking you and you think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

Dean sort of hummed a laugh. “Liar. You said you would never lie to me.”

Castiel tightened his grip on his hands. “What makes you think I haven’t lied to you every day?”

“Oh, plot twist, hmm? Ahn—there, fuck yeah. It turns out you’ve been in love me all along, huh?”

There was humor in his voice, but also a desperate note of hope. Castiel put his tongue to Dean’s neck and licked up a trail of salty sweat. Then he put his lips by his boy’s ear.

“I can give you this much, my sweet boy, I don’t mind if you want to believe that.”

“Oh, God!”

Dean twitched and his ass clamped around Castiel’s cock and he shot his load all over the wall. Castiel fucked him through it, and then pulled out. He maneuvered Dean to the couch and sat down, pushing his pants to his ankles. Dean stepped out of his pants and straddled Castiel’s legs, already knowing what he wanted. He easily took Castiel back inside and languidly fucked himself on Castiel’s dick. Castiel let his head fall against the back of the couch. Dean was incredible as he moved, making beautiful noises and knowing how to clench tight as he rose up, and then relax to slide back down. He really didn’t want to give this up.

He licked his lips and Dean’s pace increased. He was almost there, about to fill his perfect boy with his seed for the last time in months, fucking years. He supposed the least he could do was give Dean a heads up of exactly how long he planned to be gone.

Castiel gripped Dean’s hips tight and pulled him down hard, preventing him from lifting back up. He spilled into him and Dean’s hands twisted in his shirt as a litany of prayers and filth fell from his beautiful lips. He opened his eyes and saw Dean shivering with pleasure in his lap. His boy’s eyelids opened slowly, revealing clear green eyes. Dean smiled at him and brushed a hand through Castiel’s hair.

“Hey, Dean…”

“Yes, Castiel?”

“How would you like to go to Russia?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the intended end of this series. There will be no further installments. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it.


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